For Want of Silken Thread
by Jess Pallas
Summary: Remus Lupin has never been able to remember his bite. But an encounter with a dementor reveals a shocking truth about his father, his family and a werewolf called Fenrir Greyback... Set POA and pre Books
1. Chapter 1

_**For Want of Silken Thread**_

**by Jess Pallas**

**Disclaimer**: This is the House that JKR built. I am merely squatting. ;)

**A/N**: The Flashback chapters of this fic are an adaptation of a series of chapters from a pre-HBP fic I wrote by the name of _Oblivious_. Although that fic has now been rendered AU, the fact that I got scarily close in several respects to the truth behind Remus' bite meant that I couldn't resist writing this post-HBP adapted version. So for those of you out there who have read _Oblivious_, much of this fic may seem rather familiar, although hopefully still enjoyable. For those who haven't, I hope you like it. :) Also, many thanks to my Sugar Quill beta Ara Kane for guiding me through the perils of my sometimes dodgy punctuation…;)

_**1: The Dementor**_

**February 1994: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**.

It was cold.

Remus Lupin ignored the shiver that whispered down his limbs and spine as he pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and stared into the grim darkness that marked the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It would be evening soon; the taint of night was already touching the rim of the mountains to the east as the orange glow of the setting sun retreated inevitably westwards. He didn't have much time.

And he was the only one who knew just what to look for.

Padfoot. _Sirius_.

The thought of the boyhood nickname grated against his mind, a sharp-edged reminder of a time when he'd trusted, he'd believed, he'd been happily ignorant of all that was to come. All gone now, of course, scattered on the wind like blown ashes, burned away by the loss of James, of Lily, of Peter. The man, the _traitor_ who'd set those flames had, the night before, broken into the castle of Hogwarts and brandished a knife over the bed of a thirteen-year-old boy. And then he had vanished.

Remus had listened to the whispers of the students that day, to their suspicions and theories as he passed them in the corridors, to their fears and concerns. And all that day he wondered; was his silence the reason they lived in such fear? Was the secret of Black's mysterious break-in his and his alone?

The last slender sliver of his trust was hanging by a thread. The last secret he kept was burning him.

_It must have been dark magic._ He spoke the words once again in the quiet of his mind, battling mental shadows and the wraiths of doubt._ It must have been. How could anyone miss a dog of Padfoot's size if that was how he fled?_

But he had to be sure. Lives were at stake. He would never be able to live with himself if he didn't at least slip out and check…

And so here he was, alone, scouring the edges of the Hogwarts grounds in search of footprints.

_Canine _footprints.

The cold was settling against his bones as the tree-shrouded shadows of sunset drifted. His mind felt oddly detached.

It was a foolish errand, he knew that, impulsive and dangerous and he had no idea of what he actually planned to do if more than footprints should be found. In those first, terrible days following the deaths of James, Lily and Peter, he had considered many spells and curses he would like to hurl at Sirius Black should they ever again cross paths, but he was older now, wearier, his thoughts of revenge faded into a tired resignation. For Remus just wanted him caught now. He just wanted Harry safe.

He had told no one of what he was doing. Snape was already suspicious of him, spreading whispers of slander and lies amongst the staff and indeed how would it look for him to proclaim he was going out in search of Sirius – _of Black_ – alone? No, better that he do the deed and keep quiet about it. If he should find what he was searching for, which he prayed he would not, then he would go to Dumbledore and confess all.

A part of him longed to find those footprints, to finally have reason to unburden his soul of the lies. But a part of him dreaded the cold disappointment of Dumbledore's eyes and the heavy weight of guilt.

_If it is Padfoot – if that is the way he's stayed hidden all this time – then it's my fault. He became an Animagus because I was a werewolf. And if he kills again… If he kills Harry…_

_It will be because of me._

Clutching his wand more tightly, Remus continued his slow walk through the fading light. Ahead, the outer wall of the Hogwarts grounds loomed against the edge of the forest. The chill of the air grew more profound with every step. His breath misted before him as black thoughts swirled.

_Because of me_, he repeated softly in the silence of his mind. _Everything is because of me. The werewolf that destroys every good thing he touches. Is this punishment? Is this because I dared to try and have a normal life? To have friends, brothers, people I cared for and who cared for me?_

Something dark whispered, gliding through the trees leaving chills in its wake. But he did not see it as black thoughts rose within his mind, swamping his emotions with darkness.

_My bite_. Gently Remus ran silent fingers over his torso, tracing the unseen crescent of tooth mark scars that marred the skin beneath the concealing robe. _It's all because of my bite_.

He remembered nothing of that dreadful, life-changing night, had never been able to remember; too young, his parents said, too traumatic; the events that had shaped the rest of his existence and that of those around him lost behind a blank wall in his mind. But the echoes of that forgotten night lived on, and would live on forever. He had fuelled the arrogance of Sirius and James in not putting a stop to their dangerous Animagi plans and those wild and dangerous full moons on the loose. Had it not been for James' prompt actions, he would have long ago killed Severus Snape beneath the Whomping Willow. His condition as a werewolf had led to distrust within the Order, distrust that turned suspicion away from Sirius and his true intent. And the true horror of his condition had led to that terrible night, November the second, 1981, when, left alone with his grief and far too much Firewhiskey, he had lost control for one horrendous instant and allowed the wolf to take over his human mind. That Alastor Moody had not been injured by his furious assault was far more down to the prompt appearance of Albus Dumbledore that his own actions and although he had never again fallen prey to the loathsome baser instincts of his condition, he could never forget that one moment where Remus Lupin ceased to be and all his mind was wolf.

So much suffering he had seen. So much loss…

It really was ridiculously cold.

The shadows rolled. Dark memories heaved.

_From a headline that screamed of the Potters' death, Sirius Black's picture laughed insanely_…

No, stop.

_The teenage_ _Severus Snape's eyes filled with loathing as he watched him enter their first lesson together after the attack_…

Stop.

_Albus Dumbledore's eyes were filled with regret. "Remus – it's Lily and James…"_

Stop this.

_Alastor Moody stumbled back, clutching his bloody cheek... "Lupin! Snap out of it! Lupin!"_

Stop it now.

His father's face, pale and lost, as it appeared within his fireplace. "Remus, it's your mother…"

Stop now!

_Silver moonlight. The Shrieking Shack_.

No, stop, no! What was the matter with him?

Something dark brushed against his wrist. A cowled shadow loomed out of the trees…

A Dementor.

A _Dementor,_ patrolling the perimeter of the school for signs of Sirius Black, just as he was. And he had walked right up to it.

And every happy thought had drained away.

_Silver moonlight, full moon gleaming_…

And it was not alone.

_Two_ Dementors. _Three _Dementors… Dementors all around, Dementors gathering, hungry Dementors that had smelled his mind, his soul and come in search of an easy meal. They obeyed Dumbledore, yes, but Dumbledore was not here and Remus was alone…

_Silver moonlight…_

He clutched his wand. They had sensed his moroseness, sensed his despair and they were gathering to latch onto his vulnerability. He had to prove he was not easy prey – he had to call on his Patronus. A happy memory. He needed a happy memory…

But with dark thoughts and silver moonlight rampaging through his mind, a happy memory was not easy to find…

Remus couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The world was swirling, pulsing, every happy thought that he could muster dissolving into nothingness. There were just too many, just too close.

But he had to try.

"Expect…"

_Silver_…

"Expecto…"

_So much silver_…

"Expecto… _Expecto_…"

_Silver. Silver. So much silver, painful, painful silver…_

"_Expecto…Pat…Patro…_"

_Silver light… and so much pain…_

And then, inside Remus Lupin, something broke.

_Silver light stained the overwhelming darkness, dappled patches that glinted and flashed at the eyes in a mockery of beauty. He could feel his own gasps for breath against his raw, painful throat, the tremble of exhausted limbs; he had run too hard, too fast but what else could he do? Branches slapped against his face, knocking him backwards again and again – desperate, sobbing and bewildered, he scrambled on all fours now, his clothing torn, blood leaking from exposed skin as he fought with all his strength to get away…_

_He could hear it coming. Just as he'd said it would._

_He had never been so scared in all his life._

_He had to hide. He had to hide now._

_A tree loomed in his path, low branches dangling within his reach; leaping desperately, he grasped at the trunk, bark crumbling beneath his small fingers as he scrabbled for some kind of purchase, the height that would take him safely out of reach._

_He was too slow._

He heard himself scream as claws plunged into his back, dragging him down and flinging him roughly to the ground to leave him curled on his right side, trembling and sobbing against the mossy earth.

_It was over._

A dark shape, more than twice his size loomed from the shadows, its forelimbs stained with the dark taint of his blood. Teeth glinted against the silver light of moonshine, vibrating to a low and primal growl that seemed to send shivers to his very core. Golden eyes gleamed.

_It lunged._

_And then he knew nothing but pain…_

"Remus? _Remus?_ Hey, get out'o'it, get out!"

A voice.

He was on the floor, flat on his back in the grass beside a towering wall, but this was no forest by moonlight, no blood-stained earth and the ache of his scar was no more than residual pain. Around him, a half dozen spectral figures stared from within eyeless hoods as they drank away all but his nightmares…

_No_.

His mother's voice singing gently to him. His father's crooked smile as he leaned against the doorframe and watched them. The determination on James Potter's face as he swept across a Quidditch pitch on his broomstick. The triumph on Peter's face when he finally got the Animagus transformation right. Lily's laughter on Prefect patrol. Harry Potter's stag patronus.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Silver light flared. The Dementors fled.

An enormous hand closed around his arm as he was hoisted unceremoniously upright. Hagrid's bearded face, huge and panting, stared down at him.

"Yeh'll right, Remus?" he exclaimed. "Them bloody things are like vultures…"

"I'm fine." Remus was certain the declaration would have been rather more convincing if he had been able to stop shaking. "_Really_," he added firmly, catching a glimpse of Hagrid's sceptical face. "They just…caught me by surprise."

"Shoun't be here," the gamekeeper muttered with a shudder, his gaze suddenly far away – suspecting that he was remembering his brief spell in Azkaban, Remus laid a reassuring hand against his arm. "Evil, evil things they are…"

Remus found his mind was racing, tumbling through the images he'd seen, but he desperately forced himself to focus on the here and now. There would be time enough to think when he was alone.

"Agreed," he said softly. "And Dumbledore agrees too. It's not safe for the children."

Hagrid shook himself, although something vaguely haunted still lingered in his eyes. "Are yeh all right now?" he asked suddenly. "I can walk yeh to Madam Pomfrey if yeh…"

"I'm all right," Remus reiterated quickly – plunging into the pocket of his robe, he drew out a bar of Honeydukes chocolate. "Or I will be soon enough."

Hagrid laughed slightly. "If yeh sure…"

"Positive."

Giving him one final smile, Hagrid nodded and turned to begin the long plod back to his cottage.

Remus took a deep breath, then another. Unwrapping the chocolate bar quickly, he took a large bite.

Warmth spread immediately throughout his body, tingling in his fingers and toes, spreading physical relief from the chilling cold. But icy shadows still lurked with his mind.

Because, for the first time in his life, Remus Lupin knew that he had remembered the night he had received his bite.

Remus had never been able to remember the night he was bitten. He was too young, his mother had told him when he had tentatively asked about it years later, and the trauma of the event had created a wall inside his mind, a protection against an experience that no child should have had to endure. He was better off, she had said, without knowing.

Only once had he asked her how it had happened. She had burst into tears. He had never asked again.

And so, it had remained a mystery, by his choice as much as anything; after all, he had dealt with the uncertainty of the circumstances of his bite for almost all of his life and he saw no need to stir up troubled waters. He had grown used to not knowing. The wall in his mind was a part of him, and he understood perfectly his parents' reluctance to talk about what both had referred to – when they thought him out of earshot – as the worst night of their lives. That at some point on a chilly February evening towards the end of his third year of life, he had found himself in dark woods alone and been set upon by a passing werewolf was something he had reluctantly come to accept. After all, it was not as though he could do anything to change it.

But suddenly, he had seen it. It was there, in his mind. It was real.

And all he could think was _why?_

Why had he been there? Why had he been chased? Why was he alone?

The Dementor's vision had galvanised him – it was as though an indifferent dam had burst in a torrent of sudden questions. He was no longer content to just to acknowledge that it had happened; he was not prepared to shrug his shoulders anymore and declare it didn't matter because it was all in the past. His life had been changed forever that night. Surely he had the right to know_ why_.

And why, _why,_ had he never been able to remember before?

Abruptly, Remus shook himself. He took another bite of chocolate. This was ridiculous. Standing here in the encroaching darkness, getting himself worked up. Now, he needed to calm down. He needed to rest. He needed to sleep on things.

Everything would look different in the morning.

He was sure of it.

But in the depths of his mind's eye, chilling golden eyes still stared beneath a gleaming moon and told a different story.


	2. Dreams and Memories

_**2: Dreams and Memories**_

_Branches slapping, brambles tearing_…

Remus rolled onto his side, tucking his hands beneath his pillow as he buried his head into the soft down and quietly prayed for sleep.

_His own feet slapping, his breath rasping, the pounding of paws in his wake_…

He grasped the edge of his quilt, yanking it up over his shoulders as he curled into a fetal position, willing his mind to be silent.

_Tree bark beneath his fingernails_…

His old scars ached and burned; his bite scar, the lines along his back and a ring of circles that marked his neck, twisting and itching and driving him mad. He fought to ignore it.

_Pain raking his back as claws dragged him to the ground_…

Why was this happening to him? Why was it happening? Why was he in the woods? Why was he alone? Where were his parents?

_Teeth gleamed. Golden eyes glowed_…

Why weren't they here? Why weren't they with him? Why, why, _why_…

_And so much pain_….

So much…

_Pain._

_His throat seared with discomfort but he dared not speak a word – he had no wish for his sobs to be met with yet another harsh backhand. He could see little in the gathering darkness, just the branches and brambles that scratched his face and arms as they ploughed forward and the last distant glow of sunset fading against the trees to his left. _

_The moon would be rising soon._

_The man – if he was a man, for what kind of man had he ever seen before with such claw-like fingernails or pointed teeth? – had not loosened his grip upon him, one arm bundling him firmly against his chest to still his wriggles, the sharpened nails of the other hand digging hard against the soft skin of his neck in an unspoken demand for silence. The putrid breath was a harsh reminder against the top of his head as they surged forwards through the undergrowth, heedless of any damage to himself or the child he carried as he pushed on, on, on, deeper into the woods, casting looks over his shoulder as he ran. Every so often, he laughed._

_He did not like his laugh. He did not like this man._

_He wanted to go home._

_He didn't understand what was happening, why the man had taken him away from his parents and fled with him into this darkening, once-loved but now sinister forest on the outskirts of their home. He was confused, terrified, bewildered – he wanted to cry but he had quickly learned that the penalty for tears would be pain. The sun was all but gone now. He wasn't allowed out after dark._

_Why was this happening? Why was he here?_

_The man had shouted at his daddy. He had thrown things. He had cursed. He had smashed his way into the peace of their evening. The man had used words that he did not understand._

_Reparation. Retribution. Justice._

_Daddy hadn't liked those words. The man had not liked Daddy's answer. He had not liked Mummy's blow._

_For it was then the man had snatched him up and dragged him away to this place._

_Suddenly, shockingly he was hurled to the ground. He felt himself gasp at the bruising impact as roots and brambles slapped at his small body, swallowing hard at the pain in his throat as blood trickled from his wounds. He had half-scrambled to his feet, when a long-nailed hand clasped his upper arm and hauled him around to face his kidnapper._

_The man's face was broad, crisscrossed with a pattern of vicious scars, the freshest of which, acquired just minutes before, was staining his cheek with scarlet. His hair was matted and wild, untamed. His eyes gleamed gold in the gathering night._

_He hated the eyes. The eyes terrified him._

_He whimpered and sniffed as he flinched away. He couldn't help himself._

_The blow rocked him backwards, the harsh grip on his arm all that kept him from tumbling to the floor. Silent tears streamed down his face as he fought not to make a sound. _

_The man snorted with disdain. "Pathetic." His voice was an icy rasp. "Just what I'd expect from a brat of Lupin's. A coward just like your father. But you will learn the folly of his hiding and excuses."_

_His other arm was seized as the man all but lifted him off the ground, drawing his face close. His teeth glinted. Behind his head, the last vestiges of sunlight had disappeared._

"_He'll come for you, boy." The man's voice was a whisper, his face all but pressed against his petrified captive's. "But he won't come alone, oh no, because he knows what I'll do to him; he'll call his little Auror friends first. And that will give us time, just enough time to set things to rights and be away. Remus." He shivered at the sound of his name on this man's tongue. "How typical. Christened a victim, just as I was. But as was once done for me, I will make you better than your name. I will see you renamed, reborn. Do you know why?"_

_He shook his head. He was too afraid to do anything more. _

_The man's smile spread – it almost seemed, suddenly, to be a smile of a great many more teeth. "Well." The word was expelled in a gravely tone, almost a growl. "Your dearest daddy owes me boy, owes me for a life and a lifetime. And you're my payment." A glint of silver whispered behind the trees, a hint of rising moonshine. The man's lips curled upwards, his golden eyes filled with vindictive bliss as he shifted and writhed with some strange sensation that the child did not understand. The man's shadowed outline seemed almost contorted, his grip against his arms suddenly odd._

"_You'll go now and my true self will come for you. You'll thank me for this, one day." The words were thrown out in a gasping rush as he threw his head back with a howl of joy. "I'm giving you a __gift__."_

_The grip released abruptly; he tumbled backwards, slumping to the uneven ground as he stared up, transfixed in horror at the twisting form of his kidnapper._

_The man was changing shape._

_His head was elongating, his clothes ripping away from a body sprouting tufts of fur; he tumbled from his crouch onto all fours, gasping with painful pleasure. Half-changed, half-formed, he lunged suddenly towards the frozen child slumped on the earth before him, thrusting his muzzle-like face at the boy as he spat out a single order._

"_Run."_

_The child's terrified scream echoed through the trees as he obeyed._

_Running. Claws. Bite._

_He screamed and could not stop. The pain was unbelievable, like nothing he had ever thought possible, a ripping agony that centred on the savagery of torn skin where the wolf's jaws had ruthlessly clamped down. But it did not stay there. It spread in waves, flowing through his skin and veins like a creeping poison; was it his imagination that he could feel himself being twisted, the very makeup of his body rewritten into some new and mysterious code? And there was more._

_There was a presence._

_What was happening to him?_

_Hands, hands grasping him, people everywhere shouting, a voice calling his name. It sounded so far away, his mind shocked and strangely numb unable to create any response but screaming, more screaming. Something swathed him, a blanket perhaps and he felt himself lifted from the ground. He caught a glimpse of his father's face, his comforting voice whispering to him as his strong arms engulfed his son. He felt detached, removed from his own being and floating loose as the presence, the something pushed his limbs into a frenzy of contortions and blows, fighting against his father's hold. Why was he fighting? He didn't want to fight! He just wanted to hold on and be held until all the awful horrors of that night went away. But he was no longer in control._

_It__ was._

_He could feel it, sliding across his mind, vicious, vindictive desire tearing at his consciousness as though seeking to drive itself into the very essence of him. It wanted to claim him. It wanted to __be __him._

_He didn't want it there! He wanted it out! Get it out, get it out!_

_All sense of time was lost to him – he did not know how long he struggled within and without before the walls appeared, the horrified faces that stared down as he was deposited onto softness, a bed of some kind in a long panelled room that he had never before seen. His father's arms were abruptly gone, the hands that pinned him suddenly unfamiliar. With a last desperate heave he broke to the surface, screaming for his daddy at the top of his voice before being dragged sharply back under. Beyond the wall of unknown figures in lime-green robes he caught a glimpse of his mother, pale and sobbing desperately. His father was beside her, repelling the green-robed woman who hovered around him; his clothes were soaked with blood, his stance peculiar, his neck scratched and bloody from his son's own unwilling assault. He did not seem to care._

_He was staring at his thrashing son with distressed, horrified repulsion._

_And then suddenly, he was there, forcing aside the lime clothed figures as he reached out and touched his wand to the forehead of his struggling son. He was going to fix it. He was going to send the presence away. His daddy knew about things like this. His daddy could fix anything._

_His father's face was pale and set. He spoke a single word._

_"Obliviate."_

"Remus! _Remus!_"

Hands, hands shaking him, still shaking him; he gasped and fought instinctively to free himself from their grasp, eyes tight closed as he pushed back against the grabbing. He was not going to let them! He was not…

"Remus, for goodness sake, _wake up!_"

There was a shocking splash – icy cold water washed across his head to soak his hair and drip and dribble down his face. Gasping with surprise, Remus' eyes flew open and fixed upon the concerned faces of Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall.

He blinked. _What the…?_

One glance around was enough to tell him that he was still in his Hogwarts chambers, the familiar hangings of the four-poster bed, the panelled walls and stocky wardrobe to which he had grown accustomed all swimming into view. Morning light, poured in through the narrow window and flooded the room with dawning day.

It also illuminated the worry lines and creased brows of the two women bending over him.

Still breathing deeply, his mind a racing maelstrom, Remus gathered himself sufficiently to drag himself onto his elbows. "Minerva," he said, forcing his voice into a level tone. "Poppy. What in Merlin's name are you doing in here?"

Poppy Pomfrey's expression was vaguely accusatory. "You weren't at breakfast. And then Hagrid happened to mention what happened to you last night." She glared. "I would have expected to hear it from _you_, Remus Lupin, and rather sooner than the next morning. You really are the most ridiculously stubborn young man I have ever…"

"We were worried about you." Minerva's intrusion into Poppy's gathering diatribe was polite but decisive. "So we came up to check. And we heard you _screaming_."

Remus blinked. It really was ridiculously bright. "I missed breakfast? What time is it?"

"Don't change the subject." Minerva's voice was stern.

"I wasn't aware that I was."

The Head of Gryffindor House was not to be deflected. "Of course you were. Why were you screaming?"

Remus couldn't escape the vague, nagging sense of being a student again, under interrogation by his Head of House in relation to some misdemeanour or another. It took a moment's effort to remember that he was no longer a child but a fully-grown man and a Professor to boot.

He pulled himself into a sitting position. "It was just a nightmare. Nothing to be concerned about."

Poppy raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Nothing to be concerned about? We could hear from down the _corridor_. If it wasn't a Sunday, the _students_ would probably have…"

"It's _fine_." Remus knew the interruption was less than courteous but he had no intention of discussing his – dream? memory? - with anyone before he had time to process its impact himself. It was too private, too personal and too fresh to share out loud. He needed to be left alone. He needed to _think_.

Golden eyes, the bright full moon, his father's bloodstained face as he extended his wand… it all danced before him. He forced the images away.

_Please leave me alone. I know you mean well but please…_

"It was _nothing_," Remus repeated more insistently; wiping his wet hair out of his eyes, he swung his legs around and tossed aside his covers as he grasped one post of his bed to pull himself to his feet, praying that he did not look as shaky as he felt. His shoulders felt tense and set and the remnant scar of his bite seemed to itch and burn all at once. "The Dementors just shook me a little but I'm fine now. There's no need for this kind of fuss."

He supposed he should have expected the twin glares that mixed scepticism with weariness as they burrowed into his features.

Poppy was the first to strike. "Fuss? Caring about your health is not fuss, Remus Lupin!"

Minerva was not far behind. "Remus, an encounter with Dementors, especially given your history is not something to be lightly brushed off. You should…"

Wearily, Remus raised his hands in a posture of near surrender. "Minerva. Poppy. _Please_. I'm barely awake, fairly confused and my head is _soaking wet_. Could you please at least give me a while to get dressed and sort myself out?"

Both the Matron and the Professor appeared less than convinced. But at Remus' rather plaintive expression, they exchanged reluctant glances and sighed.

"If you insist," Poppy grudgingly conceded at length. "But I expect to see you in the Hospital Wing before classes start tomorrow."

"And I expect to see you in my office." Minerva's eyebrows arched beneath her spectacles. "You still owe me a discussion about your intentions for exams."

Remus nodded graciously, trying to ignore the steady drip-drip of water that splattered from his chin and hair onto the floor. "Of course."

He was subjected, briefly, to a final scrutiny from Poppy Pomfrey, whose gaze was designed to drill through the claims of health and find the nagging problems that lay beneath. But Remus' armour against such assaults was thick and well-used and at his gentle half-smile, Poppy retreated with a wry nod and moved into the corridor. After a final stare of her own, Minerva McGonagall followed, pulling the door closed behind her.

And Remus slumped onto the bed.

_Oh Merlin. Oh dear Merlin_.

Suddenly he was shaking, almost uncontrollably, cradling his damp face in his hands as he leaned forward over his knees and shuddered. He felt sick, empty and violated. The terrible memories rushed rampant through him, dark trees, the gleaming moon, golden eyes, the flash of teeth and dreadful, dreadful pain, as fresh and vibrant as though he had been bitten yesterday. And it had been real. There was no question in his mind – what he had just seen, what he had experienced within the embrace of sleep was no false hallucination. It was the truth. The truth of the night he was bitten. The truth of the night that had tainted his life.

And it was not at all the truth he had expected.

If Remus had been asked before this night, he would have thought that the ability to recall his bite would have made his history clearer. Instead it only opened a thousand new questions to the air.

He had not wandered into the woods. He had been dragged there. _Why?_

A werewolf had dragged him. He had bitten him on purpose. _Why?_

He had felt the creep of the wolf, the overwhelming horror of a feral attack almost twenty years earlier than the incident in 1981. But he was still himself. _Why?_

And as he lay screaming in pain in hospital, his father could only muster the strength to wipe away his memory of that night. _Why?_ In Merlin's name, _why?_

What was it that his father had been so desperate that he not remember? What had he not wanted him to know?

The werewolf had blamed his father. He believed he had been settling some kind of score.

And Reynard Lupin had wiped out his son's memory to hide the truth of it, and kept it a secret for thirty years whilst his only son lived with and suffered the results.

Oblivious. _Literally._

Thirty years.

A cold chill struck at Remus' heart. His birthday. It was in just a fortnight's time. That meant this week… How could he have forgotten?

Two weeks and three days before his birthday. Today was the thirtieth anniversary of his bite.

He needed to speak to his father. Now.

Home. He'd be at home. The cottage at Winter Hollow where he had been born and raised, the cottage where his father has lived alone since his mother's death – Reynard Lupin would be there. These days, he nearly always was.

He had worried about his father's solitude a great deal since he had taken the position at Hogwarts. But he would see him today. He had a lot of explaining to do.

He loved his father dearly. After his mother's death, he was all the family Remus had left. But he would not be deceived. He would not be lied to anymore.

Grimly, sadly, wearily, Remus reached for his robes. It was time for a family reunion.


	3. Father and Son

_**3: Father and Son**_

Winter Hollow was unchanged. Whatever the alterations wrought by time upon the world without, his family home always looked just as it always had. The familiarity was reassuring.

Remus paused a moment as he shook away the squeeze of Apparition, his eyes running over the oh-so-familiar outlines of his family home; the frost touched grass of the meadow, the blank and leafless trees as they sloped away up the mountains that hemmed in this small and hidden valley, the icy, tinkling brook that ran nearby. The cottage itself almost seemed to glow in the morning light, two storeys of stone walls topped off with a thatched roof and book-ended by a pair of stone chimneys. A curl of smoke rose lazily from the right-hand chimney pot.

Home. The place he had been born. The place he had grown up.

The place he had been bitten.

He loved Winter Hollow. He always had. But somehow, today, it seemed tainted by the sour memories that had invaded his dreams courtesy of a Dementor's chill.

_Let there be a good reason. Please let him have a good reason for what he did to me._

Remus took a deep breath. And then, clenching his jaw, he started forward along the path, gravel crunching beneath his boots for a few steps before he reached the doorstep and the cheery red front door that he had helped his father paint when he was only ten years old…

The father he loved. The father who had lied to him.

Grimly, Remus reached into his robes, drew out his heavy metal key and inserted it into the lock. With a distinct click, the door opened.

He stepped inside and pushed the door closed with a bang.

"Who's there?"

The familiar voice echoed from the top of the rickety flight of stairs directly ahead, as Remus heard the uneven stamp of footsteps on the landing floorboards, the click of a cane against wood. And then, at the top of the steps, his father appeared.

Reynard Lupin was staring down at Remus with a mixture of relief and concern. His silver hair remained thick in spite of the passing of his seventieth year and his face, though more wrinkled, was still very much like his son's. One white-knuckled hand was grasping the cane that had helped him to walk for as long as Remus could remember – not that the length of his memory seemed to mean much now.

He smiled warmly. "Remus!" he exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here?"

But Remus did not smile. His heart was pounding, his mind racing, but he managed to maintain his composure. He said nothing. Words would not come.

Instead, he stared at his father. His father stared back.

Reynard's expression fell instantly. There was a hint of fear in his eyes.

"Son?" he said softly, starting with care down the stairs. "What's the matter?

A terrible chill rose in Remus' heart. This was his father. His only surviving family. He loved him dearly and believed himself loved in return. And yet his dad had lied to him, kept secrets from him for almost all his life.

Confusion, hurt and anger waged war inside his mind as his entire collection of childhood memories came crashing down. Had it all been a lie? He had lost the purity of his school memories to Padfoot's presence, the knowledge of what he would become a taint on happy times. Now the cherished recollections of his parents had shifted inexorably too. Was every good memory he had in his life destined to be tainted by the discovery of deceit?

Anger was winning the battle as the cold grasp of betrayal ran its fingers through Remus' soul once more; he was too shaken and shocked to deny it. He wanted to know why his life had been ruined before it had really begun, and why his memories were now spoiled. He was owed that much, surely.

"What did you _do_?" he whispered hoarsely.

Reynard blinked; his eyes narrowed uncertainly at the intensity of his son's stare. "Pardon?"

"_What did you do?_" Remus repeated the question more sharply. His voice was stronger now, and cold – he had not felt this kind of icy rage since that dreadful night when he had learned the true extent of his loss and of Sirius Black's treachery. "What part of that night, _exactly_, didn't you want me to remember?"

His father was staring at him with bewildered confusion. "Remus, what are you talking about?"

Remus' voice was shaking now. "Thirty years ago today," he barked sharply. "Being bitten. _Obliviate_. I _remember_."

Reynard froze, staring at the son he knew so well, drinking in the narrowed eyes, the quiet rage and the icy aura of betrayed disillusionment. All colour drained from his skin.

"How?" he whispered.

Remus' fists clenched at his sides. Was that all he cared about? His precious spell being broken? "A Dementor," he retorted, his voice cutting across the air like a knife. "I got too close and it triggered something. Something that _you_ tried to hide from me."

"Remus." Reynard had raised one slow hand in front of him as he descended the final step into the hall where his son stood, white-faced and furious. "Remus, I think you need to calm down…"

"_No!_" The weight and volume of his tone shocked even him. His father flinched as though slapped by the word. "You _lied_ to me! You erased my memory! How can you possibly expect me to _calm down_?" His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "You're all I've got, Dad. And now I don't even feel like I have you."

Reynard stared at his son, his skin by now an ashen grey. "Come into the living room," he said softly. "I think we need to talk and I'd rather do it sitting down."

Remus made no argument. He simply swept through the door into the familiar front room. The brightly burning hearth, battered settee and his fathers' old green chair were all there, all just as they always were. Shelves lined with an assortment of books and ornaments lined the wall opposite the large window and family photographs waved and laughed from the mantelpiece. His mother's face beamed down at him

He could not bear to look at her today. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the settee and waited.

Reynard's progress was more sedate. The older man made his way, limping, across the room, settling himself into his familiar chair beneath the intense and searching gaze of his only son. He said nothing. He was staring blankly into the crackling fireplace, breathing hard as though he'd run a mile. He was almost as pale as his son.

And Remus waited. He had demanded this talk – but now he could not find the words. He simply stared, stared at a man he'd thought he'd known better than any other, a man he had loved more than anyone but his much missed late mother and tried to suppress the ice around his heart that whispered he was staring at a stranger. He desperately wanted an excuse, a reason, something that would make everything all right again between them, but he dared not hope for such a miracle. His hopes had been dashed on such matters too many times in the past.

Reynard's eyes had lifted to stare at his son, brimful with a cauldron's worth of fear, regret and weariness; a lifetime of secret keeping weighed heavy on the mind, it seemed. And he looked _old_. Even when the last trace of brown had faded from his hair, Rey Lupin had never looked old before the last few years, not until the day his wife had died in a stupid fall from a Parisian hotel window where she had been attending a conference to spread the word about Belby's finally successful Wolfsbane Potion. On that awful day, as he watched the coffin of the woman who had been his life for forty years vanish beneath the earth forever, he had suddenly appeared his true age. Now, sitting in front of his angry son, he seemed even older.

Two sets of eyes met. Both frowned. Neither spoke.

It was Reynard who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I never meant you to find out like this."

Remus frowned, irritated by the platitude even if sincerely meant. "Forgive me, but I'm fairly sure you never meant me to find out at all."

Reynard could not hold his gaze against such a fierce stare; his eyes dropped once more. "That's sort of true," he admitted softly. "But it was…"

"For my own good?" That phrase. He'd been expecting it. It fuelled the icy fire inside his chest.

Reynard looked up sharply, his expression one of vague offence. "_Necessary_," he finished firmly. "You were _too young_, Remus. How could you understand…"

"I'm older now. _Help_ me understand."

Reynard shook his head abruptly, a hint of anger of his own creeping into his eyes. "That wasn't what I was going to say either. Do you want to know the truth or would you like to keep interrupting?"

"Don't talk to me as though I'm _five years old_, Dad!" Remus did not appreciate being reprimanded, snapping almost before he could think better of it.

"Then don't _behave_ like you are!" Reynard retorted instantly, raising his hands sharply to cut off his son's indignant response. "I know you're confused and angry and upset. You've had a horrendous recollection and it's shaken you. But please, _calm down_. Bawling at each other will get us nowhere." He took a deep breath. "I hope you can appreciate that I'm more than a little shaken myself." He bit his lip as he fought to calm his rapid breathing. His eyes met his son's, brimming with a kind of tortured relief. "You're all I've got Remus and I love you very much. I know the full moon isn't far away - I don't think either of us is willing or able to make this a shouting match. You wanted to talk. So we _talk_. What do you want to know?"

Fighting the fire inside, Remus forced himself to regain control his anger. He felt suddenly ashamed. Much as he hated to admit it, his dad was right; the memory of the dream - or the dream of the memory perhaps – had left him shivery and uncertain, shaking him from his usual composure and causing him to snap and snipe at his father like an irritable schoolboy. Enough was enough. This was no way to behave. He wanted to talk. Fine. It was time to get to the point.

"You cast a Memory Charm on me." He forced calmness into his voice, but could not keep out the cold. "In St Mungo's. I was in pain and all you could do was erase my memory." A pleading note crept into his frosty tone in spite of himself. "What was so important that that you couldn't even wait until I'd stopped screaming to erase?"

Reynard was shaking his head before his son had even finished his sentence. "It wasn't like that, not at all." He sighed again. "Remus, how much do you really remember?"

"Everything."

"That's not helpful." The older man retorted at once. "Your everything may not be the same as mine."

Remus fought to maintain his composure. "I remember what happened. But I don't remember why." He paused slightly. "Or for that matter _who_."

Reynard stared at his hands, his eyes haunted. "Greyback."

"Pardon?"

Reynard's head rose slowly. "Greyback. Fenrir Greyback. That was the werewolf's name."

Remus blinked. "I think I've heard of him"

Reynard's lip twisted. "I'd have been surprised if you hadn't. As werewolves go, he's pretty infamous. Do you remember him biting you?"

"Yes."

"And that he took you?"

"Yes."

Each curt, one-word answer seemed to cut at Reynard like a knife. Nevertheless, he ploughed on. "Do you remember him appearing into our house? All the words he said? The confrontation I had with him?"

Remus hesitated, wading through a morass of foggy memories and found only a few vague images. Perhaps the wall, the wall he now knew to be his father's Dementor-damaged Obliviate spell, had been a little sturdier in places than he'd thought.

"Sort of," he admitted. Oddly enough, his father's familiar practicality was calming him, in spite of the situation; he barely paused a moment before clarifying. "Not really. I can see him standing there shouting at you but I don't remember what was said. And I think I remember Mum pushing me behind a chair."

His father twisted his lips thoughtfully. "I doubt it would have meant much to you anyway. Fenrir Greyback and I – it's a complicated business in more ways than one."

He stared absently at the ceiling, fingering his cane. "I got this gammy leg beating him off from you," he muttered softly. "Damn fine shot with those claws of his. Marked the pair of us didn't he? Killed us financially too – I had to take a desk job, your mother gave up most of her contracts to look for a cure for you… Oh yes. He got his revenge very nicely in that respect."

He met his son's eyes once more. Remus was astonished to see a hint of tears. "But he didn't _win_, Remus. He thought we'd hate you, you see. He thought he would ruin our family. But we didn't let it happen; if anything, it made our bonds stronger. We didn't stop loving each other. That would have been his _true _revenge."

Remus stared at his father. The anger had drained away, lost behind the flood of poignant memories. Whatever happened, whatever was about to be revealed, his father was right; whatever had occurred that night, it would not change the years that had followed. But still, he needed to understand once and for all. It was the only way that they could both come to terms with the past.

"Revenge for what? Dad, _please_."

Reynard regarded his only child. "Did he say anything to you? Do you remember?"

The words of the dream-memory replayed themselves in Remus' mind. "He called you a coward," he replied, his voice low. "He said that you owed him for a life and a lifetime."

His father smiled, a humourless smile of bitter regret. "In a way, he's right. I didn't start this, Remus. To be honest, neither did he. It was forced onto both of us until it spiralled both our lives out of control. And then he went and dragged you in too. I know I made bad choices, but at the time they seemed the right ones – I had no way to know where it would lead. Even now, I think about it and still it makes no sense."

"Then tell me about it." Remus sat forward, resting one hand beside his father's on the arm of the chair. "It might make more sense if you talk it over with me."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"The beginning usually works."

Reynard gave another bitter smile, this time tinged with ruefulness. "I'm not sure where that is anymore. My beginning, his beginning; and he had more than one. It's all confused. And a long story."

Remus managed a smile. "I seem to have time. I certainly haven't much else to do."

Reynard sighed, reaching over cautiously. When Remus offered no protest, he reached forwards awkwardly and laid one hand over his son's. "All right – I'll try. I'll do my best. But you'll have to bear with me. As I said – it's hard to know where to start."

Remus nodded quietly. "Just tell me. Give me a reason to believe that what you did really was… _necessary_."

Reynard nodded, gently squeezing the hand he held. "It was. Truly. Well. I suppose I'd better begin somewhere…"


	4. A Challenging Case

**A/N:** This is the point at which readers of my fic _Oblivious_ might find things becoming more familiar. :)

_4: A Challenging Case_

**Derbyshire, February 1964.**

This was certainly proving to be a challenging case.

Reynard Lupin rubbed his hands together sharply, blowing against his chilled fingers to ward off the encroaching cold. Darkness was creeping in fitful shadows across the battered ruins of the deserted farm that served as the base for the joint operation between the Auror division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Werewolf Capture Unit attached to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Rey belonged to neither. The best title to fit his role in this, he supposed, was that of some manner of attaché; the representative sent, as always in such cases, by the Head of the Extermination and Pest Control Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because he did not appreciate the idea of going out into the dangerous cold himself. And representation was needed. The Werewolf Capture Unit was a fine body of strong, quick, hunting men capable of the kind of speed and violence necessary to bring down a rampaging beast immune to magic – but they really hadn't half a brain between them. That was what Rey was for.

He was proud to be widely regarded as one of the best in the business, an expert in both the humane capture and necessary dispatching of troublesome magical beasts. There were very few creatures in the magical world that he was not capable of dealing with – from simple Boggart removal to rogue Griffin capture, Reynard Lupin could be relied upon to get results. To the horror of his wife and fascinated delight of his young son, he had even begun to collect some of the finer specimens, storing them in the old lean-to at the side of their mercifully remote cottage home in order to study their behaviour.

He learned enough in that time to consider writing a book someday, if he were ever to find the time. He wondered sometimes if the time should be found sooner rather than later. His job was often exciting but at times the basic work could become almost routine – banishing Boggarts, digging out Red Caps, caging pixies. More often than he liked, he found himself almost wistfully wishing for something a little more interesting.

But this case was something different. A real challenge.

Feral werewolves. Two of them.

Rey did not often deal with werewolves. His intense dislike of them was well known enough that his boss tended to deliberately and quietly divert most werewolf capture liaison cases to one of his colleagues. It was not as though there was a great deal to do on such cases – the Werewolf Capture Unit did the grunt work after all – and so Rey had not minded greatly. But a recent flurry of utterly routine Grindylow nettings and Bundimun scrapings had left him almost in despair; so when a request was routed through for an experienced attaché for this joint operation to bring down the pair of ferals whose exploits had been splashed all over the news, Rey had jumped at it.

His boss had not approved. Ares Rowen, head of the Extermination and Pest Control Division was an old friend of his father; a stern and crusty old sod that had in his day been as respected an operative as Rey was. Ares had summoned him into his office as soon as the request had reached his desk and suggested quietly that, given his _history_ with werewolves, it was, perhaps, not such a good idea.

"It's not that I don't think you can do this," he had intoned in his gravelly voice, regarding Rey cautiously over the rims of his glasses. "Indeed, with Stebbins off sick with that Malaclaw bite, Lanark chasing that loose mountain troll in Scotland, and Riever on holiday, you are the most experienced liaison I can send, apart from going myself, of course."

Rey had pictured the rotund, grey-haired, bespectacled form of Ares Rowen out in the field chasing ferals through wood and mire and bit back a smile that would not have done any favours for his career. Ares had been the best in his youth after all and he should not mock him, even silently. Someday he might be the one trapped behind a desk by injury or girth.

"But Reynard; you and werewolves." Ares was shaking his head. "Given what happened with your sister and that Argent fellow… I don't think it would be… wise."

In spite of himself, Reynard had fought a surge of rage at the mention of _that_ name. He controlled it carefully. "Ares, really, I appreciate your concerns, but I'm thirty-seven years old now, not some angry teenager. I'm a professional. I will not let personal issues interfere with my work. I can do this case. Please."

Ares had sighed deeply. "Rafe Lupin was one of my oldest and dearest friends," he said softly. "I'd feel like a traitor if I didn't watch out for his son."

Reynard had nodded. "I know. And I'm grateful. But I don't need protecting. I can look after myself."

Ares had stared at him for a long moment. Then he handed him the case file.

"Buxton, Derbyshire," he informed him reluctantly. "The ferals are known as Fenrir and Hel Greyback. You'll be liasing with Rudolf Bolt of the W.C.U and that Auror chap Alastor Moody."

And so here Rey was, deep in darkest Derbyshire, awaiting the impending reports on the current location of the two loose ferals so that he could do the necessary liasing and formulate a plan of action. He had been surprised when Alastor Moody had shown him the official permit he had been handed – permission for mission members to use Unforgivable curses in the capture or execution of their prey. But then with all the publicity in the _Prophet_ about the antics of these two, their so-called "reign of terror," perhaps it was not so unexpected after all.

Bolt had long since vanished inside for a meal and a good smoke – about all he was good for apart from being told where to point his weapons, to be honest. Moody, on the other hand, was lurking a few yards to Rey's left, staring at the sky and the heavily waxing moon with a distinct edge of distaste.

Rey had known Moody for six years now, his partner on several other joint operations between their departments in the past. A year or two his senior, the Auror was a grizzled, well-scarred but practical man who, like Rey, had a reputation for getting the job done. In spite of his gruff demeanour, Rey liked his straightforward approach to his work.

"I didn't think they'd send you, you know." Moody's dark eyes were still fixed on the moon as he spoke, leaning casually against the side of a battered barn. "When I asked Rowen for you a year or so back, during that business with that half-feral nutter in Surrey, he told me you didn't work werewolf cases. Said you had personal reasons." He grinned. "It was a pleasant surprise when you Apparated in. I was expecting that useless fool Stebbins."

Rey shrugged, following the Auror's gaze to glance at the starry sky overhead and a moon too close to full. "He never told me you'd asked. I only found out about this case by chance. I do have personal reasons not to like werewolves, but I certainly won't let them interfere with my work."

"Had a bad run-in with one, did you?" Moody inquired.

Rey gritted his teeth. "No. But I don't want to talk about it."

It was Moody's turn to shrug. "Fair enough. How're Diana and the little one?"

Rey grinned in spite of himself. Here was a subject he would willingly discuss. "Not so little these days. It's his fourth birthday in a couple of weeks. Diana and I are taking him up to visit his Grandpa John at the farm. He loves it there – he keeps chasing the sheepdogs and asking where the Puffskeins are."

Moody chuckled. "It seems like only yesterday that you were showing him off as a pink little bundle in the Ministry Offices. I swear I've never seen a grin that wide before or since. You looked like you'd pinned your lips to your ears."

It was Rey's turn to laugh. "Do you blame me? For more than ten years we tried every which way to have a child of our own. We'd all but given up hope when Remus came along. He's our miracle."

The Auror smiled, the expression odd on his grizzled face. "I was glad for you – still am. Can't think of a couple who deserved it more. I have to say though – it surprised me that, after trying so long without success, you didn't give up and adopt."

Guilty memories flooded Rey's mind – determinedly, he bit them back. No. He was not going to think about the boy again. He had made the choice and that was the end of it.

"We thought about it," he admitted softly. "Almost did adopt, in fact. But we – well, I – changed my mind. It just wouldn't have been the same. And now I'm glad we waited. Remus is a dream come true."

Abruptly, Moody stretched, hauling himself upright. "Getting nippy out here," he commented. "Might head in and grab a bite to eat." He paused, patting his friend on the shoulder. "It's good to have you on the team, Rey. But if you do have any werewolf issues, clear them out your head right now. We can't have them in the way in the field."

With that, the Auror strode away, disappearing into the pool of light spilling from the farmhouse kitchen. Rey watched him go with a sigh.

Werewolf issues. In spite of his pureblood heritage and his own father Rafe's well-noted dislike for half-breeds, he had not had any werewolf issues until he had met Loki Argent.

The worst part was that he had liked him. Argent had been a quiet man, given to moodiness at times and with a tendency towards the morose, but he had not been – had not _seemed_ – a bad man and Rhea had adored him, which had been a big plus to his cause. Rhea, Rey's big sister, forthright, lively and idealistic, a relentless champion of causes, mostly those their father despised. Rhea and their father - they had been so similar and so different at the same time, cut of the same cloth in character but with very different ideas about the world; their clashes had, at times, been spectacular.

Rafe Lupin was not a cruel man or an evil one – he had been supporting Dumbledore against the rise of Grindelwald for some time – but he was very much the old-fashioned pureblood and had very definite views. And Rhea was a wild child, a rebellion waiting to happen in the uncertain days of the Muggle war with Germany and wizarding war against Grindelwald. Rey had always taken more after their quieter mother, keeping his head down and letting his relatives slog their problems out unhindered. But he had loved Rhea dearly, admired her fighting spirit and respected her views.

Her latest mission had been werewolf rights. There was much talk in the Ministry at the time of creating a Register of Werewolves in Britain; Newt Scamander had suggested it and even begun a study to examine its feasibility. Her father was a staunch supporter of the idea but Rhea had been appalled. Fresh out of Hogwarts, being pushed towards a Ministry job and a nice pureblood husband by her father, she had abandoned his hopes and dreams and set out to make her own.

She took the Ministry job; but only in the hope of gaining independence from their father's money, although she had promised both Rey and little Rolphe, their younger brother, that she would not leave them. Every free moment she could spare she spent on her campaign, drafting her brothers in to help whenever they were home from Hogwarts. And then she had met Argent.

Rey had not known he was a werewolf at the time. It was only later that he discovered just why his father had so despised this apparently harmless man. They had met only twice, secretly, once over the summer and again at Christmas when Rey was a fifth year, smiling to see his sister's happiness as she clung to Loki's – _Argent's_ – arm. He had returned to Hogwarts as usual the following January and settled back to await the usual flood of his sister's chirpy correspondence.

Nothing came.

It was not until he went home for the summer that he was told that she had gone.

She had eloped with Argent just after he had returned to school.

Rolphe had never recovered from this apparent betrayal by the sister he had idolised; turning to his father for support, he became the model son that Rey had somehow never managed to be. It was he who made the pureblood marriage and took on the respectable career – it came as no surprise to Rey, on his father's death seven years before, that all but a pittance of the family estate and fortune had gone to his brother's _perfect_ family. Rey's lone rebellion in his life – his insistence upon marriage to Muggle-born Diana Griffith, daughter of an ordinary Welsh farmer – had never quite been forgiven. He tried for many years to regain his father's favour, even to the point of… But he had decided not to dwell on that. And though the rift thinned over the years, he had never _quite _succeeded.

But Rhea had vanished. And then there was nothing. No more campaign, no letters to her brothers, nothing. Nothing until she showed up in St Mungo's two months later…

Gods, he still had nightmares about that awful day – he was only grateful that his father had insisted on keeping Rolphe and his mother away. Even Rey was to have been excluded had he not happened to forgo the pre-school shopping trip to Diagon Alley that year and stay at home.

He had been at home that morning when the owl arrived. He had watched as his father's face turned white as a corpse's, watched him dash from the room and Apparate into nothingness without a glance or word of explanation to his son. For hours Rey had waited, wondered, torn between going in search of his mother, or awaiting his father's return. Finally, as he had stood poised before the fireplace, Floo powder in his hand and the name of the Leaky Cauldron on his lips, yet another owl had swooped in through the open window and dropped a letter into his hands.

The terse missive was written in his father's scrawling hand. It told him that his sister was in St Mungo's. He, Rolphe and their mother were to wait at home until he called.

Rey had seriously considered obeying. Briefly.

Then he had deposited the note on the prominent table in the main hall and hurled the Floo powder that was still in his hands into the flames.

He had not needed to ask the welcomewitch where to find Rhea. He could hear her screams all the way from reception.

For a confused moment, Rey wondered if he had been mistaken when he followed the terrible sounds of her agony to a maternity ward. A glance inside explained everything.

His sister was in labour. And it was not going well.

She was screaming. But this was not the pure effort of childbirth – over and over again, Rhea was screaming her plight. He had tricked her into leaving. He had held her against her will. He had forced himself upon her. She did not want his child. She had just wanted to go home. She hated him. She hated Loki Argent.

Over and over again. Those same words.

And then their father, looking haggard and anxious in one corner of the room, had glanced into the doorway and seen him.

He had been all but hurled from the room. The porter was browbeaten into escorting him back to the fireplace and ensuring that he was well and truly gone.

And so Rey had waited.

His mother came home soon after, all alone; by blessed chance, Rolphe had encountered a friend in Diagon Alley and had been invited to stay the night. Rey reluctantly told her of what he had seen, and instantly regretted it when his mother began to weep. Despite his efforts to comfort her, she continued to cry until well into the evening.

Suddenly, the fireplaced glowed and his father stepped out of the ominous green flare. His eyes were haunted.

Rey had known then his sister was dead.

The labour had been difficult. The stress had been too much. Both mother and child had been lost, his father said. And Argent was at large.

Rhea was gone. Rey's impulsive, vivacious sister had been stripped of her verve, her dignity and her life. That _werewolf_ had tricked her, deceived her, killed her spirit and taken advantage of her for his own ends. And now she was dead.

And it was all _his _fault. _Argent._

If Loki Argent hadn't killed himself before Rey had found him, he would have happily done the job on his sister's behalf.

Werewolf issues indeed.

"Mr Lupin! _Mr Lupin!_"

Rey started violently. Lost in the thoughts of his past, he had not seen the swooping broomstick of one of the Auror scouts drop sharply into the yard in front of him.

"Sir, we've found them! The ferals, they're less than a mile from here!"

His brain snapped into focus. "Send a message to the other scouts; tell them to keep the ferals in sight but don't let them see you if you can help it and certainly don't approach them. Then join Mr Moody and me in the farmhouse with every scrap of information you have about their location. Understand?"

The man nodded eagerly but Rey had barely noticed, his professionalism clamping down over his feelings as he turned on his heel and rushed towards the farmhouse. This challenging case was coming to a head and this time there would be no mistakes.

They would bring the ferals down.

It was time.


	5. The Chase

_5: The Chase_

"Hell's teeth!" Moody's quiet exclamation in accompaniment to the now-too familiar thwack of bramble against skin made Rey grin in spite of himself. "Couldn't they have holed up in a nice suburb somewhere?"

"We should probably be thankful they didn't." The low voice that responded from Moody's other side belonged to Orestes Bevan, a tall, irritatingly good-looking young Auror in his late twenties with whom Rey had often worked before. The two fathers had spent several enjoyable hours in the farmhouse exchanging toddler horror stories earlier in the evening. Bevan's startlingly blond hair was dishevelled now, and a large scratch across his face implied that in spite of his words, he was not enjoying the terrain any more than his more senior partner.

"You could have taken a broomstick," Rey suggested diffidently, gingerly pushing back a wall of thorns with his mercifully gloved palm. "Greenwood did offer…"

"Broomstick!" Moody snorted disdainfully. "Do you see the ferals sprouting wings? No. I'm not going to hide on some floating twig. I'm staying where the action is!"

Bevan grinned. "Then I think you'll have to forgo your right to complain, Alastor."

Moody made a disdainful sound. "Bugger that!" he said with feeling. "The world'd be a stinking mess if the likes of me didn't have our say!"

"I _still_ don't see why we couldn't just have Apparated." The slightly sulky baritone belonged to the hulking form of Rudolf Bolt, who was following a few steps behind, He was grasping a Muggle handgun and a wicked-looking crossbow almost possessively.

Moody paused, wearily rolling his eyes. "For the fifteenth time, Bolt, Apparition is noisy and disorientating and ferals are bloody quick off the mark. We want to catch _them_ by surprise not the other way around. I thought you were supposed to be an _expert_." He glanced at the gun. "And don't go firing that blasted thing off around my men! I wouldn't trust you to hit the broad side of a Norwegian Ridgeback!"

Vaguely aware that he'd been insulted, Bolt hunched his shoulders and glared. Moody sighed substantially and resumed his battle with undergrowth.

"Speaking of noisy…" Rey dropped his voice to a whisper. "We need to be careful and keep it down. Ferals have annoyingly good hearing and we can't be far from this ruin of Greenwood's."

Moody nodded curtly and glanced at Bevan. The younger man nodded in response and raised his hand over his head in a series of sharp gestures. Other hands appeared in the undergrowth around them as the message was passed along to the surrounding teams.

"What about _my_ men?" Bolt's voice was a petulant and carrying hiss as he fiddled loudly with the catch on his handgun.

Moody appeared to be a few steps away from murder and the look on Bevan's face implied he would quite happily give his senior an alibi. "My team will pass on the call for silence," he breathed sharply and almost soundlessly but with astonishing restraint. "That's why we assigned mixed teams in the first place. Now if you don't _shut _your bloody mouth and stop fiddling that Muggle piece of _troll-dung_, all those ferals will find of you is an interesting stain on the grass and a _very_ unpleasant smell. Okay?"

Rey bit his lip to prevent a highly inappropriate chuckle at the look on Bolt's face. The Werewolf Capture Unit, frequent destination of those without the grades or brains to become Aurors, was yet again living up to its reputation. If it weren't for the fact that this case fell nominally under their jurisdiction, Rey would have happily seen them left at home. No wonder the likes of Argent and these ferals could get away with murder with these prize idiots as their adversaries. And Bolt was one of the _bright _ones….

The team now moved in silence, easing their way through the painful undergrowth with care, avoiding the snap of twigs and casting Silencing Spells under their breaths on the clutter of leaf litter before them. The wind whispered through the loosened riot of autumn leaves leeched black by night-time's falling, the already cold air chilling their sweat-soaked backs and casting their breath as mist that they were hastily forced to regulate. The jarring alarm call of a tawny owl rose in the trees above them.

Up ahead, the trees and bushes were thinning as the slender hillside defile up which they had been creeping narrowed upwards to a rocky gorge down which a pale stream struck by moonlight tumbled. A small waterfall danced from the shadowed rocky gap to tumble into a pool at the narrow valley's head, and to one side of the sparkling water, the battered, stone-heaped roofless remains of an old cottage lay dark and unmoving. Were it not for the difficult approach and the danger that lurked within, the spot would have been a paradise. Except for the cry of the owl and rush of the wind, all was silent.

If the ferals truly were within the ruins as Greenwood had said then the capture team spread out across the slender approach had them cornered.

Rey glanced at Moody. The older man was surveying the darkened scene with narrowed eyes.

"I don't like this." The Auror's words were practically inaudible, but muttered with sincerity. "Something's _wrong_."

Rey felt inclined to agree. His instincts were screaming at him, roaring as loudly as they could that something was desperately amiss.

The tawny owl's screeching echoed overhead once more. The wind gusted and shivered down his back as he clutched his wand.

His back.

The wind was at his back.

They had approached _upwind_.

And ferals had a werewolf's sense of smell.

The tawny's screeching rebounded off the trees as the cold realisation of his error crashed down upon Rey. The owl was afraid of something.

He looked up into the tangled branches. And saw the shadow as it _dropped_.

"_Look out!_"

His warning saved Moody's life. The slash of vicious claw-like nails narrowly missed the Auror's throat as the he dived instinctively aside, ripping instead into his soft flesh of his ear. Moody bellowed with pain as he stumbled back, but the fact that he still had enough windpipe to do so was a stark reminder it could have been worse. Bolt charged into the fray with a cry, discharging his gun on impulse and Bevan, who had just taken aim with his wand, was forced to duck out of the bullet's path with a furious cry of frustration. Rey, knocked backwards by Moody's dive to safety, caught a glimpse of a lithe figure, a flash of wild blonde hair and golden eyes before it hurled itself at Bolt with a screeching cry. The professional werewolf hunter stumbled back, dropping his weapons and clutching his face with a scream as claws raked down his skin. Bevan jumped back to his feet, a curse on his lips but the shadowed feral saw the danger and darted sharply back into the darkness, leaving only an echo of cold laughter.

Even as the four men froze, stunned, to catch their breath, Bolt on the ground and gasping in pain and Moody grasping his ear with a furious expression over the fact that the ferals had _literally _got the drop on them, the undergrowth to their right crashed apart as the nearest teams rushed to their aid. To their left, screams and bellows and the roar of spells told that both ferals had attacked simultaneously.

Ignoring the blood that now poured down the side of his face, Moody snapped back into action.

"Bevan!" he ordered sharply. "Take Team Two after that bloody thing! Team Three, you're with me, we're going to help the others. Lupin." He forestalled Rey's motion to follow with one hand. "You stay here with Bolt. No arguments." His sharp gaze cut off the protest on the younger man's lips. "You're a damn fine exterminator but this is out of your league; Diana would never forgive me if I got you killed and neither would your lad. Keep your head down and watch your back. The rest of you, _move!_"

In a thunder of footsteps and crashing branches, they were gone. Rey and the still-writhing Bolt were alone.

The worst of it was he could _hear_ the battles, the tearing of undergrowth, the swearing, the screamed out spells and the desperate cries of pain. He could hear the echoing laughter, the shrieking howls of the two ferals as they attacked first to his left, then to his right, ahead, behind, all around him. He could catch glimpses of the Aurors and the hunters darting between the trees, occasionally charging through the small glade in which Bolt had fallen with barely a glance in their direction. He had never felt so helpless in his life. It was only Moody's blunt words and the thought of Remus and Diana left alone that prevented him from charging to their aid.

He turned instead to Rudolf Bolt. The hunter's whimpering appeared to be justified – his face and chest were a scratched-up mess and Rey didn't fancy the chances of his left eye ever again being much use. He cleaned the man up as best he could, muttering a few basic healing charms that were compulsory in his line of work, but the groans and moans were starting to grate on his nerves. He was shamefully grateful when the WCU leader dropped into unconsciousness.

A change in volume of the distant battle made him pause. Were those footsteps coming closer?

A scream pierced the air, shockingly close by – even as Rey darted to his feet, his wand clasped firmly in one hand, the shape of Arton, one of Bolt's men, came flying backwards out of the shadows just yards from where he crouched, arms flailing as he catapulted into a tree with shocking force and slumped into a bloody heap on the ground.

A pair of golden eyes glinted in the shadows. They fixed upon Rey, glowing like burning embers.

Oh Sweet Merlin. He was in trouble.

"_Stupef_…"

Too slow. A dark shape barrelled into him with a force that sent his wand flying and shot arrows of pain through his ribs and chest; his heels caught on the recumbent form of Bolt as he tumbled over backwards, crashing into the tangled leaf litter as the feral's momentum sent him rolling overhead. Rey managed one solid kick to the chest of his attacker before the weight of this wolf in human shape slammed him back into the ground, straddling him as claw-nailed fingers splayed above his face with intent to rip his eyes out.

And then the feral paused.

It was the male, Fenrir Greyback, who had pounced on him; his hair was wild, his cheek scratched and bloodied, his weathered, solid face far too old for his age. But it was his golden eyes that seemed to pin Rey down, narrowing sharply as they drank in his features and then widening with sudden astonishment.

"_You!_" he hissed.

Rey had no time to ponder this hate-filled exclamation from a stranger. With all the force he could muster, he brought his knee up.

The instant of shocked pain on the feral's face was distraction enough. Rey's hand closed on Bolt's fallen crossbow.

He didn't bother to aim it. He simply swung the hefty weapon with all of his might into the side of Greyback's head. Greyback crashed to the ground with a strangled cry as Rey scrambled clear of his grasp, wielding the crossbow like a club as he groped for his dropped wand.

The feral's furious eyes burned with fury as he flipped to his feet, blood streaming from his temple and staining his face with darkness. "They're going to be finding pieces of you in _Tibet, _Lupin!" he snarled viciously.

Rey didn't doubt it. His eyes were wide and unashamedly terrified as the feral bared his teeth and charged. Oh Merlin, what would happen to Diana, to Remus? Wand, wand, where the _hell_ was his _wand_…

"_Impedimenta!_"

With shocking force, Greyback was flung to the ground, struggling and snarling against the force of the spell that had entangled him in invisible bonds. The tousled blond form of Orestes Bevan surged out of the trees.

"Bloody hellfire!" The Auror exclaimed, panting heavily. "That was _close_…"

Chaos erupted in the trees at Bevan's back, cutting off his sentence at a strike.

"Bevan!" The bellow was Moody's. "_Behind you!_"

It was too late. Even as Bevan started to turn, a screaming, spitting blonde fury hurled herself out of the tress, slamming into his shocked form as her claws ripped the skin from his arm. With astonishing composure considering the writhing ball of rage that had just latched herself to his chest, Bevan rolled backwards with the impact, grasping his attacker's arms as he flung her over his head and away. Ducking out of her flight path as she hurtled into the undergrowth with an infuriated scream, Rey stumbled upon his elusive wand but before he could bring it to bear, the feral Hel Greyback was on her feet once more and diving for Bevan's still half-prone form.

Rey didn't think. He simply acted.

His hand closed around her ankle as he pulled with all his strength.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Half-distracted and off-balance, Hel did not have time to dodge. The green light of Bevan's spell struck her squarely and threw her lifeless body to the ground.

"_Hel!_"

With a shocking wrench fuelled by grief, Fenrir Greyback broke free of the fading spell that had bound his limbs. For an instant his fire-like eyes swept the tiny glade, drinking in the dead form of his companion; the motionless shapes of Bolt and Arton; Orestes Bevan still half-lying in leaf litter with his wand extended before him from the spell that had sapped the feral female's life; and Reynard Lupin, crouched, with his wand caught loosely in one hand and the other hovering over the deceased form of the woman he had successfully distracted to her death.

And then with a furious snarl, he was gone.

Rey met Bevan's eyes. Both were gasping for breath.

Suddenly, with a thunderous crash, Moody and the rag tag bloodied remains of his four teams hurtled into the glade.

"_Which way?_" The senior Auror roared. "_Where?_"

"There!" Bevan pointed with his wand, gritting his teeth against the pain in his damaged and bloody arm as he tried to rise.

Moody nodded sharply as he gestured to those members of his party still uninjured enough to run. "Bevan, Lupin, you're in no fit state. Send up sparks to Greenwood to sort out this mess and get yourselves back to HQ. The rest of you with me!" His gaze lingered momentarily on the lifeless form of Hel. "At least we got one of the bastards."

And then, limping heavily and still streaming blood from his ear, Moody vanished after his men.

A heavy silence descended over the glade. The sounds of pursuit faded down the defile to be swallowed by the night.

Bruised and aching, Rey forced himself wearily to his feet and stumbled over to where Bevan was crouched, cradling his savaged arm with a grimace. He smiled at the attaché's approach.

"Good work there, Lupin," he said, still gripping his wand painfully as he allowed Rey to steady his shoulders and assist him to his feet. "Quick thinking. Thanks."

Rey smiled unsteadily as he took the blond Auror's weight. "You saved my life. It seemed only fair to repay the favour."

Bevan grinned at that. Wincing slightly, he shifted his wand to his good hand and raised it over his head. Red sparks exploded in the air above them.

"There," he said quietly. "That should get our flying squad's attention."

Rey stared at the spray of sparks as they scattered and died against the dark roof of the sky. His entire body ached with the aftereffects of his fight with Greyback as he supported his bleeding colleague and awaited rescue. A thought struck him. "Bevan."

"Yeah, Lupin?"

"Do me a favour?"

"Of course. What do you need?"

"If I ever take a case with you again because I say I'm bored with Grindylow catching, please slap me across the head and tell me not to be so stupid."

Bevan's grin widened in spite of the pain in his features. "Will do, Lupin. Will do."

* * *

Dawn had broken, the low glow of sunrise staining the eastern horizon before Moody and his weary band trudged back to the derelict farmhouse. One look at their disconsolate faces told Rey that Greyback had not been caught.

"Tricky git, that Greyback." Moody's words were almost a snarl as he settled down reluctantly beside the mission Healer to allow his ear, which was unmistakably mangled beyond repair, to be tended to. "Caught young Dawlish a right wallop – knew I shouldn't have brought that kid straight out of training but he was so keen to come." He sighed. "He gave us the slip in the woods about an hour ago. I sent Greenwood and the surveillance boys to see if they can pick up his trail but I don't fancy their chances. He'll be long gone. And he wasn't happy either. Raved about us killing his mate whenever we got within ten yards. Kept going on about vengeance."

Rey took a seat beside him, wincing at his bruised ribs; Bevan, his torn arm now in a sling, rested his free hand against the back of his chair and leaned forward.

"So what now?" The younger Auror asked the question that burned in the air between them. "We lost Arton and Burley. Bolt's out for the count. All bar two members of the ground teams are sporting some manner of serious injury. We brought down Hel but there's no sign of Greyback. Do we keep looking or…"

"No." Moody cut the sentence off. "We're in no fit state for this. We need to regroup."

"Agreed." Bevan was nodding his head at once. "New intelligence, a new plan. And this time we go in better prepared."

"And not upwind." Rey saw no point in covering his own mistake. When the two Aurors regarded him quizzically he added, "The wind was blowing straight up that defile. They must have smelled us. I should have realised sooner, I'm sorry."

Moody waved a dismissive hand. "It wasn't as though we could have approached them from any other direction. Not your fault, Rey; we'll know next time. And you two got one of them. You'll likely be getting commendations from the Ministry for that."

Rey and Bevan exchanged glances of mild horror. "Do we have to?" Rey exclaimed.

Moody laughed out loud, only to be scolded by the Healer for moving. He scowled at her before turning back to his friends. "Don't fancy being kissed by the Minister's wife at the presentation, eh?"

"It's the warts." Bevan's tone was a shudder. "But the halitosis alone is enough…"

"Ah, the price of success." Moody grinned. "Serves you right for doing your jobs properly."

There was an exchange of rueful smiles.

"Well, if that's all for now." Rey rose creakily to his feet. "I'd probably best be off. Diana is going to take Remus up to Hogwarts again today for the annual spoiling of our son by her former pupils. I promised her I'd let her know if I was alive or dead before she left. She does like to know, for some reason."

Bevan nodded. "I think my Elise would appreciate the same favour, especially since it's only a couple of miles walk home for me from here. I don't like to worry her too often – that couch is damned uncomfortable."

Moody laughed again. "That would be why I'm still a bachelor. Go home, gentlemen. Get some rest. We'll reconvene in two days at the Ministry. Hopefully we'll have picked up Greyback's trail by then."

Rey nodded to the two Aurors as he turned and made his way towards the door.

"Oh! Lupin?"

It was Bevan calling; Rey glanced back over his shoulder at the tall blond. "Yes?"

Bevan was regarding him quizzically. "I meant to ask – how did Greyback know your name?"

Rey blinked. "Pardon?"

"In the glade," Bevan persisted. "As I was running in to help you. Greyback called you Lupin. How did he know that was your name?"

Rey stared in blank disbelief, his mouth working furiously as he tried to gather his tired and weary thoughts. He had acknowledged Greyback's odd hesitation and apparent recognition of him, but in the chaos that had followed, this shocking familiarity had managed to escape his notice.

"I…" he stammered, facing the two Aurors with an expression of bewilderment. "I don't _know_."

Bevan and Moody exchanged uncertain glances. "Have you met him before?" Moody asked sharply.

Rey struggled to engage his brain but after the long night in the woods, it really wasn't in the mood to be woken. "Not that I know of," he admitted. "As far as I know, I've never seen Fenrir Greyback before in my life. I have no idea why he'd know me."

Bevan was frowning. "Could you have run across him before in your work?"

Rey exchanged a look with Moody. "I don't work werewolf cases often. Unless I knew him before he was bitten, I don't see how I could have."

Moody regarded him thoughtfully. "What about these werewolf issues you mentioned? Could it be related to that?"

Rey grimaced. "The werewolf I had issues with is long dead. I can't see how this would be related to him killing my sister."

Both Bevan and Moody winced sharply. Moody swallowed hard at this abrupt revelation. "Here," he said suddenly, holding out a round, blue disk that Rey accepted with bemusement. "It's an emergency beacon. You get in trouble, you press in the middle from both sides and the one I keep on me will tell me you're in trouble."

Rey felt a cold chill as he tucked the little disk into the inside pocket of his cloak. "You think I'll need this?"

Moody's expression was grim. "We need to be constantly vigilant in this game. I'm not risking it. If Greyback has you picked out, for whatever reason, I don't want to be called to your house sometime to identify your corpse. Send Diana and the laddie up to stay with her folks for a bit, get them out of the way. There's no point in risking innocents."

A chill spread like icy fingers across his heart at the prospect of harm coming to his beloved wife and precious son. "I'll speak to her tonight when she gets back and have them packed off tomorrow morning. Remus likes the farm and I'm sure Diana will understand."

Moody nodded. "Good man. Don't look so worried, Rey, it might be nothing. But better safe than sorry, eh?"

Rey nodded, trying to ignore the ice that threatened to paralyse him. "Better safe than sorry."

He did not say what he was thinking, did not admit the fear that had engulfed his heart so violently as the truth of his predicament sunk in. He did not confess to the hovering vision of Greyback's face lingering over him, because to do so would have been to admit that the danger to himself and his family might be real.

But that did not change one simple dread, one horrible suspicion that he was unable to shake. He did not know why. He did not know from where. But he pictured the feral's face and he felt it.

Fenrir Greyback was as familiar to him as he had seemed to Greyback.

The question now was _why_.


	6. Family Ties Part One

_6: Family Ties - Part One_

Home.

With a sigh, Rey quietly pulled the front door closed behind him, glancing around the small, cosy hall of the little two-storey thatched cottage that had been home to him and Diana ever since his marriage. Winter Hollow, it was called - it had belonged to his wife's mother, built by her parents, a Muggle family of artists called the Winters. They had found the delightful secret Welsh valley in which the cottage now nestled, with its floral meadow and tinkling stream, whilst on an expedition and quickly chose to settle there. Diana's parents had given them the house on their wedding day and Rey couldn't have thought of a better gift.

For adaptation into a wizarding home it couldn't have been more suitable – hidden away high in the hills, shrouded by trees and surrounded by forested mountain, not to mention a good mile from the Muggle road in the larger valley below, it was unlikely to draw attention from passers by and therefore perfect for a Ministry Exterminator with an unusual penchant for keeping his victims and a Potions Mistress who insisted the strange clouds of pink and orange smoke that she shooed out of their kitchen window were entirely intentional. The large stone fireplace that dominated one end of the kitchen proved perfect for Diana's vast selection of cauldrons, the little meat hooks in the ceiling beams ideal for hanging herbs. True, it gave the narrow stone-floored room an interesting aroma at times, especially given his wife's tendency to experiment, but as Diana had testily pointed out, if he could keep his malodorous rabble of creatures in the lean-to behind the house for the _fun_ of it, she was damned well going to use the kitchen for _real_ work.

And use it she did; even after gaining the position at Hogwarts. It was not unheard-of for married teachers to commute after all, and with well-publicised "office hours" three evenings a week, the remaining two nights plus weekends allowed her to walk to the Three Broomsticks and from their take the Floo into the less cauldron-cluttered fireplace in their lounge. After an incident involving the temporary misplacement of her left elbow, Diana had never been a keen Apparator.

But now, of course, with Remus in their lives, Diana was once again working from home and Rey felt the happier for it. He was aware that she had loved her job at Hogwarts, but he couldn't help but feel a selfish pleasure now that her less demanding schedule allowed him to see more of her. And seeing the look of joy on her face whenever she held their son, he did not believe that she was particularly upset by the change in lifestyle either.

The house was hushed in the thinning dark of morning – despite the breaking of dawn at the Derbyshire farmhouse, the taller mountains that hemmed in the Lupins' more westerly home had delayed the sunrise here. Unwilling to waste time lamp lighting, Rey removed his cloak and hung it on one of the little hallway hooks by the wintery light creeping into the kitchen windows on his left. Ahead, the wooden staircase ascended into darkness but Rey knew every step of it by heart – he did not need to see where he was going to know that the third step would creak and that the sixth and eighth steps wobbled. He moved forward with the confidence of familiarity and made his way upstairs.

Once on the landing, he hesitated, his eyes drawn to the slightly ajar door to his left. On impulse, he touched his fingers to the door and pushed it back, entering on silent feet as he glanced around at the scatter of toys and games that belonged to an occupant who had not yet learned to be tidy. Little hippogriffs danced in playful circles silhouetted against the light that filtered through their curtain playground, making faces at the man who invaded this child's domain. A glimmer of light caught his gaze – the little glass orb filled with bright golden shimmers that doubled as a nightlight and alert system that awoke its counterpart on his wife's bedside table should their son awake in the night.

The subject of this attention was dwarfed, almost lost, in the sturdy and rather too-big-for-him bed that rested its head against the far wall and jutted out into the room. Curled up against his pillow and wrapped up tight against the cold in his oversized quilt, all that could be seen of the youngest member of the household was a smudge of light brown hair and a small hand, firmly grasped around the toy sheepdog his Grandpa John had given him for Christmas. Rey grinned in spite of himself. Out like a light as usual. He had never known a sounder sleeper than Remus.

Carefully picking his way through the labyrinth of fallen toys and scattered books, Rey moved to his son's bedside. From this angle, the little face of his almost-four-year-old boy could be seen peaking out from beneath the quilt, half buried against his toy collie with a hint of a smile on his face. Gently Rey reached down, stroking the soft hair tenderly for a moment, unable to keep his own smile from spreading. His son. _His son_. There had been a time when he had given up on ever having a moment like this, a child of his own, his and Diana's miracle. And he knew that he would tear down the eaves of the world to keep him safe.

It couldn't wait. He would speak to Diana this morning.

Pausing for a moment longer, Rey bent down and pressed a kiss to Remus' forehead, watching briefly as the little smile flickered unconsciously in response to this affection. Then, stepping carefully once more, Rey edged his way out of his son's bedroom and made his way down the landing to the room he shared with his wife.

There was no avoiding the fact that Remus' tendency to sleep soundly had been inherited from his mother. Diana was a mass of dark brown curls against her pillow, flat out and fast asleep, a generous lump beneath the blankets. Rey smiled to himself. Whilst he would never in a thousand years have dared to call her plump, there was no denying that Diana was not exactly a vision of willow-slender elegance. Many jokes, mostly of their own devising, had been made about the contrast between tall, wiry, light-haired Reynard Lupin and his small, dark-curled, slightly ample wife. Opposites did indeed attract.

He considered waking her there and then, and would have done so if he had not spotted the little curl of paper resting serenely on his pillow. Moving with a quietness born of years of creature stalking and marriage, Rey slipped around the bed and retrieved the note, carrying it to the window where he angled it to catch the pale light that filtered through the crack in the curtains.

_Next time you're bored, please take up a new hobby or something - I stayed up well past midnight worrying about you. I hope you realise that if you're not still alive to read this, I'm going to have to kill you_.

Rey grinned in spite of himself. He loved his wife.

By the sound of it though, she hadn't got much more sleep than he had. Perhaps he would not wake her after all – there would be plenty of time to speak to her before she and Remus left for Hogwarts just before midday, and he could certainly drop off their things at the Griffith farm near Aberystwyth whilst she was in Scotland and explain the situation, as far as he could, to her parents. His wife and son could stay the night at Hogwarts or in Hogsmeade, and then nip back by Floo for Diana's broomstick and its child harness to make the trip from their home over the mountains to the farm the next morning. Yes, that was probably best.

He would just have to stay awake – just for an hour or two, until Diana came round. He considered going down to his study or the lounge to read for a while, but reading made him sleepy and he was tired enough as it was from his long night. No, his best bet was simply to get into bed; with the kind of drama Diana always made out of getting up of a morning, she was bound to wake him even if he did happen to drop off.

Quickly he stripped off, changed into his pyjamas and slipped into the bed beside his wife. He snuggled down carefully, dropping his head to the pillow as he tried to focus his thoughts. This would be a good time to plan his mission report. So… the mission leaders convened at the abandoned farm house near Buxton following information obtained by aerial surveillance and…

Surely it wouldn't hurt to plan the mission report with his eyes closed.

Abandoned farm house near Buxton… aerial surveillance…he had spoken with Alastor Moody and Rudolf B…Rudolf… what's-his-name… and they had… they had… What had they?

Lost in a welter of confused and shifting thoughts, it completely escaped Rey's notice that he had begun to snore.

* * *

Light burned against his eyelids. Rey groaned.

Mission report. He had been planning… wait. Had it been this light before?

His eyes snapped open. The curtains were wide open, the low arc of autumn sunshine beaming directly onto his pillow. And he was alone in the bed.

Rey bolted upright instantly. "Diana!"

There was no response. He strained his ears for the clatter of pans or cauldrons in the kitchen, for the familiar morning sound of his wife's melodious voice and his son's laughter. He heard nothing but silence.

Greyback's face hovered against his half-drowsy mind. The feral was laughing.

Danger. His family was in danger.

_Damn! Where are they?_

Half-conscious and clumsy with drowsiness as he was, he hurtled out of bed at once, almost tumbling over the quilt as it tangled itself around his feet. Kicking it off, he bolted across the landing to his son's room – one look through the door told him it was empty. He rushed helter-skelter down the stairs, still in his pyjamas, stumbling in the hall as he darted into the kitchen. Empty. Across the hall he hurried, grasping the doorframe of the lounge as his eyes roamed from broad window, to sofa, to tidy fireplace and shelf of books, but no wife and no son. In desperation, he even bolted down the passage alongside the stairs to the study he shared with Diana, taking it in turns to write their papers from the books that lined the wall. Nothing.

Back to the kitchen. The windows that looked out over their slightly wild garden revealed nothing but almost leafless trees and autumnal grass, the merry little stream and his wife's small kitchen herb garden, mostly at rest for the winter. The cellar door was half-ajar, but peering down revealed nothing but the rough pile of boxes that contained Diana's more volatile potions ingredients.

Rey stood motionless for a moment, breathing hard and trying to gather his scattered and panicky thoughts.

Where was his family?

They couldn't have gone. They _couldn't_ have gone. They_ couldn't_.

But they had.

Images of bloodstained bodies danced across his mind. He would have heard. If they had been taken or hurt, surely he would have _heard_…

He glanced at the clock. It had just gone noon. On the calendar beside it, a large red circle outlined that day's date. And in Diana's writing, two letters.

_HW._

And then as his sleepy, shocked brain struggled back into working order, the truth hit him with a rush and a distinct sense of stupidity filled him from crown to sole.

Hogwarts_. _Of _course_.

It was the day of Diana and Remus' visit to the school. His mind had been so full of reports, of danger, that he had managed to suffer a ridiculous lapse in memory. But for a moment, he'd remembered only Greyback and been so sure…

_Bloody hell, Rey. Getting senile in your old age_.

There was no sign of a struggle. Nothing broken and nothing missing. They must have simply set out that morning as planned; his wife had told him she had intended to leave around late morning and midday had come and gone in his slumber. But why on _earth_ had Diana not woken him? Told him she was going? Could she not have at least left a…

A note. Sitting on the kitchen table.

Rey snatched the neatly folded piece of paper from the tabletop and voraciously devoured its contents.

_This marriage by note is becoming a habit. It's nice to see you are alive, even if you don't act much like it – if it hadn't been for the snoring I might have been worried. And you call me a sound sleeper! I didn't like to wake you so I left breakfast (or more likely lunch) in the little cauldron on the counter – don't mix it up with the one by the fire, I don't fancy talking my gibbering husband down off the ceiling when I get home. Remus and I have gone to Hogwarts and we'll be back late this afternoon or early this evening. I'm sure Remus would be very grateful if his daddy would get us something to eat for when we get back, since we're fairly sure that by the state of him he won't be doing much else today. See you later, my love_. _Diana_.

Intense relief waged war with violent disappointment. Relief at this final confirmation that his family were not lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and disappointment that there was a chance they still could be. His plans to get them to safety that day had evaporated – by the time they got home, Remus would be far too tired to make the necessary journey by broomstick to the Muggle farm of his grandfather or even to go back to Hogsmeade by Floo; his son was no more keen on Floo powder than his mother was about Apparating, and two journeys in one day would be more than enough for him. Rey fought to take deep calming breaths to prevent himself hurtling into the lounge and taking the Floo to the Three Broomsticks in his pyjamas.

He was being irrational. Greyback was on the run. His partner was dead and half the magical community was out to kill him. And just because, for some strange reason, he happened to know Rey's name that did not mean he necessarily knew where he lived. Very few did; Moody and Bevan, his two most frequent Auror partners, had dropped round once or twice after missions to write their reports in comfort – Orestes Bevan had even brought his wife Elise and their kids three months before to play with Remus. Ares Rowen had come by to offer his condolences after Rey's father had died, and Rolphe and his wife had visited once, just after Remus had been born. None of these people were likely to inform a raging feral of Rey's whereabouts. Moody and Bevan, at least, would sooner die.

It was one night. He was overreacting. They would be safe enough until morning.

Still grasping the note in one hand, Rey made his way to the small cauldron on the counter, investigating its contents. A warm porridge-y aroma wafted across the kitchen as he lifted the lid – bless Diana and her long-lasting warming spells. Sliding the note carefully under a nearby sugar pot, Rey helped himself to his breakfast/lunch and settled at the table to eat. It was one night. It would be fine. They would be safe and gone tomorrow and Greyback none the wiser.

If he said it often enough, Rey wondered if he might even believe it.


	7. Family Ties Part Two

_7: Family Ties – Part Two_

No five hours in the history of the known universe had ever passed so slowly. As the afternoon wore on, Rey started to wonder if he would _need_ to drink the contents of the pot by the fire to be scraped gibbering down off the ceiling.

There were only so many times he could feed his menagerie before they grew ridiculously fat. His mission report was so polished that it shone. He even _tidied_ for Merlin's sake. The meal making might have taken up a good portion of time if his culinary abilities hadn't been limited to the brief and rapidly make-able likes of cheese on toast and boiled egg. Rey would have wondered at his wife's odd urge to experience her husband's uncertain skill in the kitchen if he had not been certain that she and Remus would have filled up thoroughly in Hogwarts Great Hall over lunch.

He managed to drag out the food making by burning the first three rounds of cheese on toast to small charred heaps. That was something.

On the fourth attempt, he managed a few rounds that were vaguely edible and was just debating whether to eat them himself or attempt the warming charm his wife was so proficient at, when he heard the flare of the floo in the lounge. Hurriedly fanning out the smouldering remains of his previous attempts to cook, he had taken only three steps towards the kitchen door when Diana appeared, wearing a broad, happy smile and clasping a sleepy looking Remus in her arms. Her eyes swept across the kitchen, taking in the haze of smoke, her husband's ruddy face and the distinctly blackened offerings that were laid out on plates on the table. She raised an eyebrow with deliberate slowness.

"See that Remus?" she said with bantering cheerfulness. "Daddy made us bad cheese on toast. We're surprised, aren't we?"

In spite of the fact that his eyelids were drooping, Remus still managed to grin and shake his head.

Rey folded his arms, taking his cue from his wife's playful tone as he adopted a posture of distinct offence. "So you've finally corrupted my son. It had to happen, I suppose."

Diana's eyes twinkled as she deposited her sleepy bundle of son onto the specially child-warded kitchen chair nearby. "I fail to see how good taste and common sense constitutes corruption. I mean, _look_ at the state of that toast, Reynard Lupin. And judging by the smell, I'd say that was your best effort."

Rey stood firm against the playful teasing of his wife. "If you don't want it, why did you ask me to cook?"

Diana grinned openly. "I thought it would be funny?"

"Charming." With grim determination, Rey lifted a piece of his charcoal toast and bit down. "Mmmm," he lied. "Just how I like it. And very nice for those of us who haven't been gorging ourselves on house-elf fare all day."

Diana gave him a long hard look as she bustled over to the sink to inspect the damage to her utensils. "Are you casting aspersions on my sylph-like physique?"

It was an open goal-hoop. Even with the risk of a night in the spare room or on the couch, there was simply no avoiding it. "If you keep eating Hogwarts sized servings, your sylph-like physique won't be able to fit through the doorframe."

The wet tea towel he had to admit he had earned. The porridge ladle however, _hurt_. The small snicker from Remus at the antics of his parents didn't help.

"_Ow_." Rey rubbed his forehead. "What sort of example is that to set our son?"

"Serves you right." Diana sniffed as she retrieved her projectile and deposited it back in its pot. "You know if I wasn't in love with you, you'd be in a great deal of trouble right now. If you wanted to marry a beanpole, you should have stayed with that Sylvia Venner."

Rey groaned. Oh dear Merlin, there were times that he wished he and his wife had not been in the same year at school. "Why is it always Sylvia Venner? So I went to Hogsmeade with her. Once. In fifth year. _Before_ we started dating. I hardly even remember what she looks like."

"You know she's sixteen stone now. And in a show-marriage with an effeminate German Quidditch player with a bad moustache."

"I don't care about Sylvia Venner!" Rey had no idea if his wife was telling the truth or spinning one of her glorious webs of fantasy – it was usually best not to ask, for showing any kind of interest in old girlfriends or other women led inevitably couch-wards. Diana was a wonderful human being; the kindest woman he knew, gloriously witty, infinitely patient, amazing with children and a wonderful wife and mother but she also had a much-denied but unavoidable streak of insecurity. And she never, _ever _forgot.

At this emphatic denial, Diana smiled. "Good. Glad to hear it. Now, Remus." She crouched in front of the chair of her nodding son. "Do you want some of daddy's nasty burnt food or would you like to go to bed?"

Remus regarded his mother with sleep filled eyes. "Bed," he murmured at once. "'M not hungry."

Diana ruffled his hair, making him giggle. "Good choice. Honestly, no wonder you're so tired, the fuss everyone made of you today. I thought Molly Prewett was going to run off and take you home with her, bless her heart. She couldn't get enough of you." She chuckled and grinned conspiratorially at her husband. "Poor Arthur Weasley looked terrified. I hope the poor lad doesn't mind a big family."

Rey shook his head. "Will he have a choice?"

"I doubt it." Diana turned back and rose to take a hold of her little boy once more. "Come on then, sweetie. I'll just take you up to get washed and changed and then I'll choke down some of grumpy daddy's toast." She glanced over her shoulder at her husband with a smile as she hoisted their limp son back into her arms and started towards the doorway. "I'll bring him down for his goodnight kiss when he's clean."

Rey watched her as she carried their precious child into the hall, his entire world encapsulated in those two fragile human forms and fought back a sudden chill.

"Diana?"

His wife's dark head appeared back around the doorframe. "Yes, love?"

He met her eyes and saw the light-heartedness of her expression drop as she read the sudden seriousness of his gaze.

"Be quick. Something happened on the mission last night that I need to talk to you about. It's important."

Diana's features tightened as she drank in her husband's welter of emotions but she was restrained from asking more by the sleepy stretching of Remus in her arms. She nodded. "I won't be long."

Rey listened in silence as his wife's footsteps vanished up the stairs. A moment later he could hear her pattering about in his son's room overhead. He sighed.

His family meant everything. To live without them would not be living at all. If anything were to happen to Diana or to Remus because of this confusing mess with Greyback, he would never be able to forgive himself. It might be nothing, Moody had said. But in spite of himself, his instincts were telling him over and over that this was real. Greyback's face was familiar and the hatred that had filled it on seeing him inescapable. Perhaps it was paranoia, fear of losing all that he had fought so hard to gain. But what if it _wasn't?_

This, it seemed, was the price of boredom. It was not a price he considered even remotely fair.

He rested his head in his hands as he slumped into his seat at the table. What had he done wrong in his life to deserve this mess?

Aside from abandon the boy.

Guilty feelings rose in his heart once more as he remembered the one event in his life of which he was desperately ashamed. But his father had been so angry and he had so wanted his respect back – the sacrifice had seemed worth making at the time. And he had not just been his sister's son but Argent too – how could he have looked at him every day knowing how he had come into the world, knowing that in his moment of gaining life, he had taken away Rhea's?

It had been ten years before he had learned that his father's use of "lost" instead of "dead" had been deliberate. Rhea was dead. But her child was not.

Argent had played one last card that awful day. He had snatched the child from the hospital and fled.

He still remembered clearly the day a little over ten years ago that an Auror and a senior official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had approached him at work and asked him to join them in a quiet office. He had been deeply surprised to find his father and Rolphe already there. But more shocking still was what they had to say.

Loki Argent had been found dead that morning. He had hanged himself.

A ten-year-old boy had been found furious and crying in his house. His mother, according to the suicide note left behind, was Rhea Lupin. And it was into her family's care that the boy was now to be offered.

Rafe had exploded. He called it a lie, an abomination – any child of his daughter's was long dead and he would not raise the gutter-brat of that creature and some other brood-sow he had captured. For all he cared, the monster's child could drown. Neither he nor any member of his family would touch the spawn of a werewolf.

Then he had stormed out. Rolphe had followed him.

But Rey had hesitated. For so long, he had wanted a child but somehow he and Diana had been unable to create one. They had been considering adoption. Could he adopt his sister's son?

He had asked questions, many of them. Were they sure the child was Rhea's? As sure as they could be. What was he like? Difficult, they had admitted – Argent, apparently depressed and moody for some time had not made the best of single fathers. Was the boy magical? Possibly, they said – he had shown signs but it was unlikely he would ever be very powerful. Was the boy a werewolf? Although Rey knew the condition was not hereditary, there was a chance that the boy could have been bitten by his father. But no, they had said. The boy was human. Could he meet him? Gladly, they told him. What was his name?

His name was Tyr. Tyr Argent.

He had discussed it at some length with Diana. She had been quite happy with the idea. But the boy was his family, she had said. The final decision lay with him.

And so he had gone to meet him. Tyr Argent, a sullen boy whose dark eyes held pain much beyond that a child of ten years deserved. He had been snappish, unpleasant, temperamental. He had asked his _uncle _where he had been for the last ten years.

Rey's answers – that he had not known of his existence, or where to find him – seemed to placate him a little. At times in the conversation, he even thought he caught a glimpse of hope.

But he had not been sure. The boy had truly had a difficult upbringing but he was far from friendly; he seemed to possess his mother's fire with his father's personality, not a pretty combination by any measure. It would be difficult and they would not have much time to bond before the boy would be off to Hogwarts. Adopting this child, he sensed, would be a great deal of burden for very little reward.

And then his father had found out. That had been rather less than fun.

Rafe Lupin had been incandescent with rage. Being disowned had been the least of his threats. Take that _thing_ in, he had been told, and he would be wiped from existence in Lupin terms, never to see or go near his family again. Marrying a penniless Muggle-born had been bad enough but this would be the limit. The end. From this, there would be no going back.

Rey and his family had not always seen eye to eye. That did not mean he did not love them. And more than anything else, he longed for his father's respect.

Was it worth it for a sullen child who would probably not even thank him? Was it worth it for the son of the werewolf that had caused his sister's death?

He had decided not. He had turned down the adoption.

He had asked if he might be allowed to see Tyr sometimes. But they told him the boy did not want that. He was given to foster parents and that was the end of any contact.

Rey sighed. It had probably been for the best. But he still wondered what had become of Tyr. He would be somewhere in his early twenties by now…

His train of thought stopped short. He went cold.

He pictured Tyr's face.

And then he imagined Tyr's face _older._

_No!_

He came to his feet, unaware of anything but pure, blinding shock as he stumbled into the hall and across into the lounge, grabbing one of the pictures from the mantle and staring at it. A family photo taken at Christmas, the last before his sister died, his parents, Rolphe, Rhea and himself. He stared at his sister's beaming face and crossed it in his mind with Loki Argent. He juggled features, swapped parts and got the same result.

He got the older Tyr.

He got _Greyback_.

Greyback was Tyr. Tyr was Greyback. Oh _Merlin_, no wonder he'd seemed so familiar!

But he hadn't been bitten. He hadn't been a werewolf, not then. He had been safe, well as could be expected and most definitely human, given to the care of his foster parents. What had happened to him since that day? How had he come to this?

"Rey?"

Diana was standing in the doorway, a pyjama-ed Remus still yawning in her arms. She was staring at his stunned features with the deepest concern.

And then the fireplace flared with emerald light.

There was no time to react. Even if he had not been in such shock, it still would have happened too fast.

He felt something hurl against him, lifting him almost off his feet as he was catapulted across the room. Silver light glistened on black as his head struck the wall with a thud – he felt himself slump to the ground but could do nothing to prevent it. He heard Diana scream, heard Remus cry out and saw them dragged past him into the room, both tumbling to the rug with a thump with expressions of terror and shock. The door slammed shut beside him.

And then a blood-splattered face straight out of his horrified realisation filled his sight from side to side.

Fenrir Greyback grinned. It was the coldest expression that Rey had ever seen.

"Hello _uncle_," he drawled softly. "Remember _me_?"


	8. Into The Woods

_8 Into the Woods _

There was a moment of terrified silence.

Reynard could feel the pounding of his blood in his veins, the echo of his pulse against his ribcage and temples as he fought dizzying disorientation and rampant shock caused by the force of the impact and barely realised recognition of his foe. Greyback loomed above him, golden eyes aflame, his face and clothing stained with an array of blood and gore that Rey did not like to consider the origin of. He groped for his wand only to find himself empty handed – he had left his only weapon on the kitchen table. Almost unconsciously, his gaze shifted towards him family – to Diana, dishevelled and wide eyed as she rose to a shaken crouch by the hearth, her expression filled with realisation of the same truth that had moments before struck her husband; to Remus clasped, almost engulfed in her arms as he peaked out at the sinister stranger with terrified bewilderment. So vulnerable. So exposed. So _trapped_.

But looking had been a mistake. Fenrir - Tyr – the feral - his _nephew _– had followed his gaze.

In two steps, the blood-splattered feral was towering over Rey's wife and child, running his tongue along his sharpened teeth and grinning nastily as they shrank back.

"So you would be Mrs Lupin." His golden stare drilled down into the cowering woman and the precious bundle in her arms. "Or _Mother_, as it might have been, if your husband had not been such a coward. What kind of man did you marry, that he still obeys the whims of his father when he's grown?"

Diana did not reply, her lips pressed together tightly, her face white. Pressed against her chest, Remus gave a tiny half-sob.

It was enough. The cold yellow eyes fixed upon the little boy, who shrank back into his mother's arms at once. Greyback's stare was glacial as he drank in the child before him.

"And what's this?" he drawled softly. "Well, well. It seems that you've finally got yourselves a _replacement_ for me. And a replacement of your blood at that."

Diana's grasp on her son tightened sharply at the hinted threat in the tone. In spite of his dizziness, Rey half-staggered to his feet, determined to distract the werewolf from menacing his son.

"Tyr…" he gasped, but got not further.

Greyback wheeled upon him instantly, his golden eyes ablaze with fury. "_You will not use that name!_" he roared. "That name is _nothing_, the child who bore it _gone_! It was a name for those who lose, who fall, a name given by a worthless father who squandered his potential to wallow in his misery. I will not follow his path!"

His features contorted into steely, determined rage as he strode to within inches of his retreating uncle, his voice dropping to a vivid whisper. "I will be the striker of the blow and not its victim."

Rey could feel Greyback's foul breath against his face, see the burn of his eyes. He shrank back against the wall in spite of himself. He saw the feral's half-smile at his successful intimidation.

"Still the coward, Lupin," he breathed softly. "Did you think I wouldn't know why it was you would not take me in? I heard that stringy social worker discussing my case on the day he took me to stay with those ridiculous foster parents; I heard his belief that Rafe Lupin had scared you away. But you must have _let_ yourself be scared, must not have cared _quite _enough, or perhaps you wouldn't have rushed so much to obey the man who _killed your sister_."

The world tilted violently. Rey's breath choked in his throat.

Greyback's teeth gleamed as he smirked maliciously. "Didn't know that, did you?"

Was he delusional? Was he mad? Or did he really believe what he was saying? Rey wasn't entirely sure, but the very half-hint of suggestion was ridiculous. He knew what had happened to Rhea. He had been _there_, heard the words from her own mouth. Just what stories had Argent filled his son's head with?

Rey found his voice. "You're lying."

"Am I?" The feral chuckled cruelly.

"Argent killed her." Rey steeled himself. The werewolf was playing games, he was sure now. He was spinning lies, trying to upset and confuse him and he was not going to succeed. "Your father kidnapped my sister and held her against her will."

This time Greyback laughed outright. "My _father_? That spineless depressive? He wouldn't have had the nerve! The one bold move he made in his life was snatching me from that hospital and frankly I'd rather he'd _left_ me."

Casually, coldly, he rested one sharp-tipped hand against the wall beside Rey's head, scratching restlessly at the wallpaper.

"No, no, no." He shook his head as his eyes ground into his uncle. "She went of her own free will, if not really because she wanted to. Your charming _daddy_ left them no choice. He was not happy when he found out his little girl was carrying – how was it he said he put it? - the _spawn _of a werewolf, much less that she carried it willingly. At one point, he was threatening my father with Azkaban. So they left. They fled."

Rey fought to contain a rage of his own that would have likely killed them all. "How would you know?" he retorted. "You weren't even born."

A large chunk of paper was rent from the wall with a shriek of torn plasterwork; Greyback examined the pattern skewered on his fingernails with bland thoughtfulness. "My father was a talkative drunk. And he was drunk a great deal of my childhood, bemoaning the woes of his life to the world, how no one would accept him because of what he was, how people avoided him, would not employ him and of course, the epic tale of his lost love and the cruel father who had ruined everything. He never _shut up_ about it. When he finally hung himself, it was almost a relief." He snorted disdainfully, peeling the paper from his fingers and flinging it to the ground. "Lycanthropy was _wasted _on him."

There was little Rey could say to such an extraordinary statement.

"You seem surprised." Greyback cocked an eyebrow, tapping a foot impatiently as he turned circles mindlessly on the spot, pacing like a caged animal. Beyond him, Rey caught a glimpse of his wife, moving with surprising stealth as she edged her son quietly behind the nearby armchair. "But it's true. Loki Argent was a pathetic excuse for a werewolf. So much power, so much potential and what did he do? Drowned it in alcohol and _moped_."

The feral flexed his claws absently as he paced the small room, his eyes still inexorably fixed on Rey.

"He could have been so much _more_," he drawled softly, his eyes distant. "I learned that much from his binges. It was there, so often, the little glint of gold in his eyes, the moment of power, of possession, when the wolf would appear through his drunken haze, when, just for a moment, he would be _strong_. Just for a moment, I could almost _respect _him. He must have tasted the truth of his existence in little bursts a couple of times a week. But he never embraced it. He would start muttering about your bloody sister and what she would have wanted and back would come the drunken sot who reeled into unconsciousness. I suppose even wolves have standards and no self-respecting wolf wanted to stay in that undignified mess of mind and body for long. It was enough to make me _vomit_."

The pacing halted sharply – in three steps Rey had been backed yet again into the wall by the sheer force of those wolfish eyes. "And it was all thanks to dearest _grandpa_."

Hard as it was to read emotion from the alien golden eyes, Rey was receiving one message loudly and clearly. "You're insane."

"Admittedly true." Greyback smirked and buffed his blood-soaked fingers easily against his leather jerkin. "But your family made me this way."

With the feral's attention once more drawn, Rey could see out of the corner of his eye that his wife was moving once more. Her grasp on Remus had been released, the boy tucked away out of sight behind the furniture. The mother of his child was now edging her way towards the opposite side of the hearth – towards the coal scuttle and…

And the _poker_.

_Good old Diana!_ It wouldn't lay the werewolf out for long, but it might be enough for Rey to get through the door, across the hall and to the kitchen table where his wand was waiting. But only if they could keep Greyback distracted.

Time to talk and keep him talking. Nonsense or not, it was buying them time.

"Your father kidnapped my sister." Rey repeated the words firmly, almost reassuringly as he boldly met the werewolf's gaze. "She said so. I was at the hospital, I heard her. I don't know what lies you've been fed…"

"I'm not the one who's been fed lies." Greyback snapped his sentence away, slamming his palm against the already beleaguered wall with enough force to make Rey jump. "I was fed nothing but the ravings of a drunkard too inebriated not to tell the truth. It was you who were fed lies, you and your sister. By the time your father was done with her, she didn't know what she was muttering. Powerful things, Confundus charms."

Rey gaped. What was he _saying?_ Had he really just accused Rafe Lupin, a once highly respected member of the magical community, of _confunding_ his own _daughter_?

"That's ridiculous!" he spluttered in disbelief.

Greyback laughed grimly. "That's what people said, when a werewolf tried to claim it. That's what was so _clever_ about it. He found them, you see. Found where they had run to, where they had hidden to escape his wrath, traced by his bully boys over a search lasting months. They found them that morning, the day I was born as it turned out, held captive and restrained by Lupin's mob until the man himself responded to the owl they sent him. And when he arrived, my heavily pregnant mother was told that if she abandoned the child and came home where she belonged, all this _madness, _as he called it, would be forgotten. She refused. As my father tells it, she spat in his face." He smirked humourlessly. "I'm certain he loved that. The fact that he drew his wand on her was a fair indication of his feelings. And then he told her that this…" He snorted again. "Was for her _own good_."

An owl fluttering through the window of their home – his father's pale face and

sudden disappearance. _No_. Rey pushed the rebellious thoughts back down. The werewolf was lying. The _werewolf_ was _lying_. Whether he truly believed this tale or was reciting his own invention out of vindictive pleasure, Rey was not certain. But his father would _never_… Yes, he had been strict and argued often and loudly with his daughter, and no, he had not been fond of werewolves, but he had loved her. Surely he would never have done something like this to his own child. Not unless he truly believed she was in danger, unless he truly believed that it was…

That it was for her own good.

A common phrase his father had used around Rhea. He had loved and hated her all at once. All he had ever wanted, Rey knew, was for her to simply do as he told her, take the nice safe job, the nice safe husband, have the nice safe life. It was for her own good, he had told her in one of their blazing rows. If she did not know what was good for her, he would have to show her.

But no. He would never have taken an action such as this.

_Would he?_

"The first spell he cast was a memory charm, wiping her mind of a willing departure, of any happy times with her werewolf lover." Greyback's gaze was sharpened blade of gold. "And then came the Confundus charm, and as she reeled confused, he whispered poison in her ear. My father had tricked her into leaving. He had held her against her will. He had forced himself upon her. She did not want his child. She just wanted to go home. She hated him. She hated Loki Argent." Greyback's eyes glowed. "And when the shock caused her waters to break and they dragged her to the hospital, that was all she was able to say."

No. No, no, no, _no_. But repetition could not kill the whispered yes within his mind. Those words, near enough exactly, had been Rhea's. Over and over again, as though learned by rote. How could Greyback have known them? He had not seen Argent in the hospital, he was sure; indeed he remembered from his questions of ten years ago that it had been more than an hour after his sister died that Argent had made his dash into the hospital to snatch the baby. So where had he heard those words to repeat them to his son if not when they were drilled into Rhea's head in the first place?

"My father broke free in the chaos of rushing your sister to hospital." Greyback had resumed his circular pacing, forcing Diana to still her careful advance to her weapon. "He waited outside, until he saw that the bully boys had been sent away. He sneaked inside, waited until your father had left to sign the death paperwork and snatched me away. And thus began his ten years as a drunken self-pitying waste of skin. His death was a blessing to both of us."

His eyes fixed once more upon Reynard. "And that, my dear uncle, is where _you _came in."

With a vaguely disquieting expression, he lifted one of the several family photos scattered on shelves and mantles around the living room and gazed down at it absently. Diana's hand wrapped around the poker just out of his line of sight, drawing it into concealment beneath her robes.

"A very pretty picture." Greyback's voice was oddly soft, but a cocktail of bitterness and disdain sharpened its edges. "And to think, it could have been me. We could have all been sitting down to supper together right now, whilst I babble on about my nice boring job in the Ministry. Just think of the fine upstanding citizen I might have been if you had actually taken me in and given me the benefit of a _wholesome_ upbringing." He sneered. "_Pathetic_."

With a venomous lob, he hurled the picture against the stone of the fireplace, where it shattered into fragments, narrowly missing Diana who leapt back with a cry. Rey's half-start towards his wife was forestalled by an extended handful of claws.

"Just stay where you are, Lupin, there's a good chap." Greyback's lazy, sadistic drawl was filled with the easy confidence of a man convinced he was in complete control of the situation.

"Contrary to what this little exercise might imply, I wasn't heartbroken when you rejected me; you didn't impress me much in our little interview." Greyback shrugged easily as he turned smoothly away to kick at the shattered picture fragments with his foot. Rey hoped it was only in his imagination that the feral's eyes drifted to the slight hint of movement and stifled sobs behind the nearby chair. "But I was angry at _why_, angrier than I think I'd ever been. Yet again, Rafe Lupin had slammed the door on my having half-a-life. And you had been weak enough to let him. There is nothing I hate more than a _coward_."

A clawed finger ran the length of a bookshelf, scratching away the varnish with an agonising squeal. "The foster parents they sent me to were worthless – simpering, fussing milksops, no use to anyone. My father's morose drunkenness became almost appealing against a backdrop of vapid smiles and their desperate, insincere efforts to care. Oh they tried to like me, they really did, but it was always there – the little glances, the uncertain looks when they thought I couldn't see them. They were scared of a ten year old boy." He gave a snort. "So, albeit in a different way, they made it very clear just as Rafe Lupin had that you didn't have to be a werewolf to be treated like one. I was guilty by association." Greyback almost casually slashed the spine of a book with his fingertip. "I was gone from that hole within three weeks. I was tough. I had as good as raised myself after all. I would take my chance on the streets."

The smile he fixed upon Rey was predatory and utterly vicious. "And then, I met Hel. You might remember her. You did help that Auror _kill_ her yesterday."

Rey winced at his wife's quiet gasp, causing Greyback to smile with glee. "Hadn't you told your wife about that Lupin? What a lovely open marriage you have." He sneered at the exterminator. "Hel was everything my life had been missing. A strong presence, powerful, capable of teaching me to survive and to prosper. Her wildness fascinated me, the glint that I had seen and respected in my father's eyes bursting to life in hers. I told her I wanted to be like her. I thought she was going to kill me but she didn't. She invited me to her hideaway. I watched her transform before my eyes that full moon night and then I placed my arm in her mouth myself and _relished_ in the pain. I abandoned my foolish attempts to follow my father's miserable path, to be accepted by a world that did not want me. I let the wolf become my world, my truth, and I have never looked back. If I was going to be treated as a werewolf, as a monster by association, then I was determined to _deserve_ it. And I will take as many others as I can there with me."

He walked slowly over to Reynard, his face hovering less than an inch from his prey. "So you see, my wonderful childhood was courtesy of _your_ bloody father. Just as my wonderful adolescence was courtesy of _you_. Not that I mind much now – you probably did me a favour, all told, giving me a chance at this power. But I don't like being abandoned out of cowardice. Rejection isn't something I handle well. Especially when the man who rejected me sees fit to wipe out the woman I had turned to when he so easily cast me aside."

Slowly, with a flash of teeth, Greyback drew back, sauntering back to the shelf of pictures as he lifted a proud shot of Rey's parents and drew his sharpened fingers down the glass with an agonising shriek of sound.

"My darling grandpa," he murmured viciously, without turning. Diana had started to rise, poker grasped behind her back. "Ah yes. One of my greatest regrets in life is that Rafe Lupin was inconsiderate enough to die of natural causes before I was strong enough to tear him limb from limb. But at least I still have _you_. And _them_." He gestured over his shoulder to the abruptly frozen Diana and their hidden son. "And now that you've taken my Hel from me too, I think you deserve something _special_. Certainly more special than I gave your Auror friend."

Rey froze, fighting a sudden wave of coldness as his eyes swept over the bloody mess that stained Greyback from head to foot. "What?" he breathed sharply.

He was not certain he wanted a response. He was right to. He got the one he'd dreaded.

With a casual shrug, Greyback smashed the second picture against the bookshelf and turned once more to face his uncle. "You may be wondering, perhaps, how I found you?" The feral's grin was cruelly triumphant. Slowly, languorously, he drew the back of one finger down the still fresh blood that stained his cheek. With repulsive pleasure, he slipped the finger in between his lips and smoothly licked it clean. He smiled, teeth glinting.

"I've just been speaking with Orestes Bevan. And of course, his _lovely_ family."

Rey's stomach dropped like a stone. _Oh Gods, no! Please!_

Greyback chuckled at the shock and rage that swelled unbidden in his captive's eyes. "I had no idea that such a prominent Auror lived so close to my former hideout until I spotted him strolling along the lane this morning. Casual as you like, he was, as though killing my mate was no more than a day's work for him. And although I am not really a stray, I felt a sudden urge to follow him home."

He thoughtfully examined his gory fingers. "They kept me waiting mind, sending the children to a neighbour whilst his wife bundled him off to St Mungo's to see about that arm of his. But I found myself to be in one of those lovely trusting neighbourhoods, where folks, even Auror folks, do not always lock their doors. The attic made a comfortable enough hideaway as I rested and waited until I was quite sure that _all _the family were home."

Repulsion and horror rampaged through Rey's soul. "You _killed_ them _all_? Just to find me?"

Greyback smirked as he waved a dismissive hand. "Of course it wasn't just about you. How egotistical you are! I had a few things to say to Bevan in regards to the death of my Hel. But he was most uncooperative about your location. I think he may have doubted my good intentions."

_I wonder why_, Rey thought blackly but was wise enough to restrain his tongue.

The feral ran his tongue along his teeth. "Auror stubbornness is a nuisance. In the end, I had no choice but to slit his gullet and have done with it." The cruel smile spread alarmingly. "But his wife – she was _very_ helpful. Especially when I so _generously _cradled her frightened children. Shame it didn't help them – or her – in the end. They really did make a terrible mess of the carpet."

Rey's gaze fixated upon his wife. He couldn't look away. He could see Diana's expression shifting from repulsed shock to horrified fury as she squared her shoulders determinedly and rose to her full, if not spectacular, height, both hands clasped around the poker concealed beneath her robes. He remembered how well she had liked Elise Bevan. He remembered how fondly she had played with her kids. He could see her fears for her own precious child alive and blazing in her eyes.

She was going to take Greyback's _head off_ if she could.

And Greyback still hadn't noticed, hadn't considered her a danger. Elise Bevan had been a quiet woman, eager to be protected by her big strong husband – was he perhaps expecting Diana Lupin to be the same? He was in for a very rude awakening if he was.

Praise be for small favours.

"Of course, once I had the name of your home, it was simply a matter of borrowing a little floo powder. It wasn't as though they would be needing it again." Greyback continued to drink in Rey's horror, oblivious to the danger from behind and Rey knew there and then that he had to do whatever he could to keep Greyback's attention to the front. " It really was a stroke of good fortune, Bevan living within walking distance of that old wreck of a farm you were all holed up in. Otherwise I might never have found either of you."

Once again, Greyback was upon him in seconds, all but thrusting through him the wall as he hurled him backwards once more, his viciously sharp fingernails tapping against his uncle's chest. He leaned forward with a vicious smile of victory.

"And I'm so _very _glad I did. You see Lupin, as I see it, you _owe_ me; owe me for the life I could have had and the life you stole from my mate. And I'm not prepared to let that go. I want _reparation_. I want _retribution_. I want _justice_."

Reparation? Retribution? Justice?

Anger swelled in Rey's chest at hearing these words spoken by this murderous, vindictive killer. He had slaughtered countless people for no reason but his own pleasure, butchered a good man and his young family out of petty spite. And if his ever flowing life story was true, he had _asked _for this, inviting the bite and becoming a feral out of some foolish, childish desire. He had given up his humanity out of sheer resentment and now seemed determined to thrust his life on others. True, Rey could not escape the guilt that he had driven him in to a position where he could be made such a thing. But this was not _his_ fault. He had been dragged into it from a misplaced sense of kindness and the love he had had for his sister. Whatever his father had done, whoever had been told the truth and who fed a pack of lies, he had not been involved in the events of his sister's death – his only wrong was a decision not to adopt a child he had been under no real obligation to care for in the first place. He had made _one_ mistake. Did he and his family deserve to _die_ for it?

It was too much. He simply snapped. It had been a long day after all.

"Reparation for _what?_ For a life you've said yourself you didn't even want, for a family you disdain? Why do you care about my cowardice if being a feral makes you so happy? Retribution for _what?_ For the behaviour of my father? I am not Rafe Lupin, you have no right to take your frustrations with a dead man out on me! I loved my sister, I would have done anything to save her but I was a child! Justice for _what?_ For stopping your precious Hel from tearing my stricken friend limb from limb? For preventing one death by allowing another? Hel Greyback was a murderous, insane killer, whereas Orestes Bevan was a good man with a good family that you slaughtered for doing his job, for trying to protect the innocent! Reparation! Retribution! Justice! The words should stick in your throat! How dare you storm into my house and lecture me about your awful life? You didn't have to be this way! I didn't force your hand into the werewolf's mouth! You chose your life so don't blame me if you aren't happy with it. And if you are happy, why do you even care what I did? What do you want me to _do_?"

He saw the blow coming but there was no time to do anything but deflect it to somewhere not lethal. The pain was stunning as Greyback's nails raked his shoulder, catching him as he tried to twist his throat out of range and hurling him into a heap in the shattered glass that had been his father's picture. He felt Greyback's foot smash down against his back, pinning him in place as he loomed ominously over his uncle and bent low.

"I want you to _bleed_," he hissed.

And then, Diana struck.

There was no denying that it was a fantastic shot, a powerful two handed swing worthy of a Quidditch Beater, driven by the infuriated strength of an indignant wife, mother and friend. Greyback's dodge was impressive as he wheeled at the last moment to face the sudden danger, but he was just an edge too slow – his head snapped back with the force of the poker's impact, blood of his own splattering fresh crimson across his cheek as he cursed obscenely. Kicking free of his foot, Rey rolled in spite of the glass that dug against his skin, grasping one of the larger fragments and plunging it with all his might into the soft flesh of Greyback's calf.

The feral werewolf howled with pain and shock, stumbling backwards under the abrupt onslaught, but he did not lose his head. Diana's second blow slapped against his palm as he caught the poker mid swing and wrenched it harshly from her grasp, sending her careening backwards with a vicious shove to tumble against the armchair, tipping it sharply over. Suddenly exposed was Remus, cowering, tearstained and bewildered, scrambling instinctively out of the way of the falling furniture and his half-stunned mother to stumble out of his corner into the room beyond. He did not see the sweeping hand until its claws closed viciously around his throat and yanked him off his feet with a gasp.

Rey froze. Diana froze.

Remus whimpered.

Greyback smiled slowly.

"Why Lupin," he drawled. "That was almost brave."

Rey was paralysed. His boy, his Remus was clutched viciously in the claw-like fingers of Fenrir Greyback, one arm, the hand holding the snatched poker, clasping the child securely against his chest, the other still wrapped horrifyingly around his throat. His son was shaking with shock, pain and fear, his brown hair tousled, his cheeks deathly pale and wet with terrified tears and his eyes wide and fixed upon his father, filled with a mute, desperate appeal for daddy to come to the rescue. Blood was trickling down his neck from where the feral's harsh one-handed grip had pierced the fragile skin.

His son. Greyback had his son.

_No, please. Anything but Remus_.

Slowly, unsteadily, his eyes never leaving his child, Rey rose to his feet.

"Give me my son," he said softly.

Greyback smirked incredulously. "Be careful you don't drown in all that righteous indignation. Honestly, Lupin. Why _should_ I?"

"You can have me instead." He meant it. "I'm the one you came here for, not Remus. I'm the one you want. You can torture me, kill me, do whatever the hell you want, but put down my son first."

His nephew gave a cold chuckle. "_Put down_. What an _interesting_ choice of words. But no." Slowly, carefully, the feral began to move towards the window, his eyes darting between husband and wife and rapturously drinking in their terror. "I think I've found a better way. You and your wife are getting a reprieve for your little flash of bravery, a stay of execution. But believe me, it's _only_ a stay."

With a flick of his wrist, the poker went flying, smashing the pane of the nearest window into fragments that clung like saw teeth to the frame. A few sideways kicks of Greyback's boot cleared the gap more thoroughly. His grip on the terrified Remus never loosened.

"Do you know what tonight is, Lupin?" There was a kind of lazy satisfaction to the feral's drawl. "Have you checked your lunar calendar?"

A chill like arctic winter engulfed Rey from top to toe. He remembered the heavily waxing moon that had gleamed over the farmhouse the night before, full in all but name and his eyes widened. _Merlin!_

"_Full moon_." Greyback's smile confirmed Rey's worst fears. "And look out there now – all but dark, the sun almost gone, and soon a full moon rising. I can _feel_ it coming. And when it does…"

His golden gaze flicked to Remus. He snapped his teeth.

"No!" It was Diana's horrified gasp that responded first, half-starting forward only to be instantly stilled by Greyback's slight tightening of his grasp on her child. Her eyes fixed hopelessly upon the vicious predator in her living room. "He's too young," she whispered, pleading, desolate, drained of her fire by the icy cold danger to her only son. "Don't you know what will happen if you bite a child that small? He won't be able to cope."

Greyback was laughing before she even finished. "_Exactly_," he breathed, maliciously smiling at a mother's grief. "I _have_ done this before and trust me, he's _just_ the right age. Oh I won't kill him – I'll be very careful. But I know what will happen. His mind won't be strong enough to fight it. I won't even have to talk him round." He teased the tender neck of the little boy with his fingers, tearing at the skin and smiling at Remus' sobs of anguish and his parents' desperate-to-comfort eyes. "And then I'll have a pack again, an adopted son of family blood. And I'll bring him up well in your honour; I'll make sure to teach him _everything _I know. I'll raise him in my image, just as my poor Hel raised me in hers. And when he's old enough – when he's _ready _– _he _will be the one who will come back to killyou. And you and your wife, Lupin, you can live your lives in _anticipation_ of the day your prodigal returns to claim his rights in the knowledge that it was your own cowardice that brought it about."

With an agile leap, he landed poised for a moment on the windowsill, Remus dangling terrified in his clasp, and turned to revel one final time in the terrible fear in the two pairs of eyes before him. He smiled.

"I hope you enjoy the wait," he said. "I know I will."

And then he was gone.

They were both gone.

Rey bolted for the window instinctively; his eyes fixed at once upon the fleeing figure and the fragile human bundle in his arms. But before he could even half hoist himself onto the glass strewn window frame, the shadows swallowed them as they plunged into the woods and vanished into darkness.

Greyback was gone.

And Remus soon would be.


	9. By Moonlight

_9: By Moonlight_

This couldn't be happening.

It couldn't.

Please don't let this be happening.

But it was.

Diana's sudden gasping sob, the sound of her bright spirit shattering at the abduction of her darling son, rent his soul. Rey himself was frozen with desperate, disbelieving shock, staring blankly at the patch of tree-shrouded darkness that had enveloped the fleeing figures of Greyback and Remus as though at any moment they would reappear and declare the entire thing a joke.

But they didn't.

Fenrir Greyback was Tyr Argent. He had accused his father of causing his sister's death. He had killed Orestes Bevan and his family. And he had taken Remus.

Taken him to bite. Taken him to make a werewolf. Taken him to turn feral.

Greyback was going to make his son a monster. And then use him to kill them.

_No_.

Something flared in Reynard Lupin, a sudden surge of fury, fear and bloody-minded determination. This was _not_ going to happen. Greyback was _not_ going to take their son. He was _not_ going to ruin their family. There was _no way_ in seven kinds of Hell that Rey was going to allow Fenrir Greyback was going to hurt his boy, not whilst he still had half a breath left in his body. How dare he drag an innocent child into this ridiculous feud? Whatever it took, that bastard would not destroy Remus, would not steal away his mind and ruin his life before it had even started. Rey was not going to let that feral turn the most important thing in his life into something repulsive. Greyback was not going to _win_.

Whatever happened, bitten or not, Remus, the sweet little boy who had been the centre of his and Diana's lives for three years was going to come home. And he was going to be _himself._

Rey would make sure of it.

He had not even realised he was moving until he noticed that his wand had been snatched from the kitchen table and slipped into his belt, and that the cudgel that was occasionally necessary in his line of work had been lifted from the umbrella stand in the hallway and experimentally hefted in his hand. Moonrise was alarmingly close – if he were to encounter Greyback transformed, Rey's wand would be no more use than a knitting needle for he knew full well that direct spells were useless against a transformed werewolf. The cudgel was needed.

Greyback would kill him. Of that much he was certain. To face the werewolf alone in those woods tonight would be suicidal. But he had meant what he had said to Greyback in the lounge as he had stared into the terrified eyes of his hostage child; if Rey could save his son's life by giving his own, he would do exactly that. All he had to do was buy time and keep Remus safe until reinforcements arrived.

Speaking of which…

His work cloak hung where he had left it that morning. Moving forward rapidly, Rey dragged it from the hook and rummaged in the inside pocket.

"You're going after him."

There was a resigned emptiness to Diana's voice, her words a statement rather than a question. There was no accusation, no encouragement, no trade-off between husband and son. She understood the fate that was lurking in those dark trees at the slightest misstep, but at the same time it was her child that had been stolen. She stood, pale, bleeding slightly from the temple, a ragged stream of blood trickling from her temple and staining her cheek darkly against the flow of tears, staring at her husband with torn and distraught eyes.

"You're not coming." Rey bluntly rebutted the unspoken question. The blue disk that Moody had given him with at dawn earlier that very day fell into his hands from the folds of cloth. Pressing the disk from both sides, he tossed it to his wife. The pale blue pulse of its flashing glow tinted her face with a sickly shade of misery as she caught it deftly.

"It's a beacon Alastor Moody gave me in case of emergencies. If Greyback hasn't killed him too, he'll be on his way." Rey met his wife's gaze. "I need you to stay and send him after me. I'll need all the help I can get."

Diana nodded slowly. "All right."

She was in shock, that much was obvious. The son who was her world, her life and soul, was gone, and her furious energy sapped by the futility of her efforts to protect him. Her husband was risking his own death in a most likely equally futile attempt to bring him back. Her mind, unable to balance the love for her child and need for his rescue against the love for her husband and need to keep him safe, had given up trying and shut down her emotions in defeat.

Under any other circumstances, Rey would not have dreamed of leaving her alone, but this was an unavoidable exception.

He slung his cloak over his shoulders, wincing slightly as the material brushed across the still bleeding slash of Greyback's claws, brandished his cudgel and reached for the front door.

"Rey."

He paused. He turned.

Diana's eyes were bright with terror. "Don't die." The words were a whisper. "I couldn't… Not both of you. _Don't die_."

Rey forced back a surge of terror of his own. Was this the last time he would see his beloved wife?

"I'll do my best," he softly replied.

And then he turned and swept into the gathering darkness.

He thought he heard the distinctive crack of Apparition on the lawn behind him as he plunged into the trees but he did not pause to turn and see whether he was right. Even beneath the shadowed weight of the skeletal woodland canopy, the feral's trail was easily spotted to an experienced tracker such as himself, broken twigs, scuffed dirt and twisted undergrowth pushed aside in his hasty passage were all markers to his direction. Greyback was not taking any care to hide his tracks. Either he did not expect pursuit or he simply had no fear of it.

The first would make him a fool. The second would make him a danger.

Rey suspected the latter. But he no longer cared.

Darkness was gathering, dusk pushed aside as the last gleam of sunset vanished behind the mountains. The trees were a looming presence all around him, dark, twisted limbs lacking even a tattered vestige of their foliage, flexing against the whispered breeze stirring the frostbitten moss that clothed their roots. Ivy curled and crept its way up the bark of those taller, older trees, a sheath of green against the cold dark night and the shadow of winter. Frost had already begun to settle as the cold February night set in, its silver hue glinting by the light of the sinking of the sun as it clung to his boots and crunched and slithered as he ran. A hint of silver light played across the branches.

Rey paid no heed to bramble or thicket; abandoning all pretence at stealth, he simply blasted them from his path. He could feel his breath screaming against his throat, the cold air scraping the tissue before bursting back to freedom in mist; he ignored his breathlessness determinedly. His bruised ribs ached, his torn shoulder throbbed and his arm and back tickled with spots of pain that he suspected were caused by his fall into the glass. Steeling himself, he forced back the petty distraction of his injuries and plunged on, straining his ears for any hint that he might be closing upon his quarry.

And then, he heard the scream

A child's scream.

Ice clamped his spine and his stomach plummeted.

_Remus_.

It had not been a scream of pain. That, at least was something. But it had been a scream of absolute fear. His little boy was terrified.

Silver seemed to flood the woods about him. The full moon gleamed as it slipped into the sky.

A wolf's howl split the cold night air asunder.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end with primeval terror. _Oh Merlin_.

Hesitating a moment, Rey sheathed his wand. It would be of little help to him now.

The howl seemed to have come from a few hundred yards ahead, perhaps up the slow rise of the wooded hill towards the hulking silhouette of the mountain above. Was it worth the risk?

_Yes_.

With a crack, Rey Apparated towards the sound.

Disorientation caused his head to swim. He swivelled in a rapid circle in spite of his dizziness, cudgel braced and ready for attack, but there was no snap of jaws, no cry of _daddy_. He froze, listening desperately but heard nothing. Despair plunged into his heart – had he sacrificed a clear trail for nothing? But then, a torn thicket caught his eyes, a broken branch… Scrambling forward Rey stumbled into a tiny clearing. The leaf litter was strewn with scraps of bloodied cloth, recently ripped to shreds and flung here and there with terrible force. This was where Greyback had transformed.

There was no sign of Remus. Alive or dead.

He had started to turn in search of an exit trail when the undergrowth behind him erupted.

Rey spun on his heel, his cudgel raised and a cry of fury on his lips. He stifled the blow just in time.

A wand thrust into his nose. The scarred face of Alastor Moody stared at him wide eyed.

"Bloody hell, Rey!" he swore violently, pulling his wand back.

Other Aurors appeared, perhaps five or six that Rey knew by sight at least, if not by name, their faces registering varying degrees of fury, shock and disgust. Rey had no idea how Moody had gathered so many so quickly, but he was glad to see them nonetheless.

He had his reinforcements. There was no time to waste.

"This way!" he ordered sharply, ignoring Moody's frown that exclaimed quite eloquently that he was on the verge of sending the exterminator back to his wife. But not this time, not when his son was involved; Rey would not allow himself to be expelled from the field of danger like a naughty schoolboy again. "The trail goes down here!"

Moody was at his side instantly as he hurtled once more into the silver-streaked woods. "Diana filled me in the best she could," he gasped breathlessly, his superior fitness no match for an adrenalin-pumped father in search of his boy. "Greyback said he wasn't planning to kill your lad, right?"

"What he wants to do is worse," Rey snapped back. He was in no mood for looking at the limited positives of this awful situation.

Moody stumbled slightly on a patch of loose leaves and grimaced before glancing at his companion with dark, steely eyes. "If it comes to a battle, you hang back. I won't…"

"If you tell me to stay out of the fighting, I'm taking your head off Alastor! This is my _son!_"

"Then _concentrate_ on your son!" the Auror barked back sharply. "Get the boy and get out! I will _not _see another family massacred today!"

Rey felt a hollow shiver. "Bevan…"

Moody shot him a surprised glance. "You know?"

"I know." Rey's jaw set grimly. "He took great pleasure in telling me."

"I was on the scene." Moody had finally settled into a solid rhythm of running, his voice shaking with both exertion and emotion. "When the beacon went off." He gestured over his shoulder at the gaggle of Aurors on their tail. "I grabbed every man there and sent them down the Floo whilst I Apparated. I thought for a minute… Two friends in one night…Two young families…" He gulped down a breath and continued. "We saw what he did at Bevan's, all of us. Every man here wants him dead. No more kids. We won't let him."

Rey nodded grimly. _No more kids_, he echoed silently. _Especially not mine_.

But a moment later, he knew that he was already too late.

Another scream ripped through the peace of the night, barely eighty yards ahead.

This time the scream was of agony.

_No! Remus!_

Outstripping Moody in seconds, ignoring his restraining cry, Rey thrust ahead and burst onto a scene taken straight out of his greatest nightmares.

An enormous bristling silver wolf stood braced in the moon-washed centre of a small glade. A limp little figure dangled face down, blood-soaked and motionless in its jaws.

Golden eyes snapped up. With a flex of its mouth, the clamp of teeth released, dropping its minute burden into a heap at its feet. There was no sign of movement.

A low growl vibrated in the air.

Rey did not hear it. He did not care.

The world had ceased to exist, banished into insignificance by the enormity of emotions rampaging through his mind as he stared, unable to look away from the bloodstained little body slumped pale and deathly still on the cold, hard earth. Shock, horror, misery, fury, disbelief and rage mingled together around the edges of the overwhelming void that had formed in his soul.

Greyback had lied. He had killed Remus after all.

He had killed Remus.

Remus was dead.

That couldn't be right. It couldn't. The world could not keep turning if those words were true.

A second growl tore into the breeze. With narrowed eyes, the werewolf had dropped to a crouch, poised to spring upon the stunned and grieving father standing motionless before him.

The growl shuddered in Rey's ears. It shivered down his spine, shaking his body and igniting a sudden flame in the turbulent hollow of his grief. Fire exploded in the volatile cocktail of emotions, burning his body from top to toe as red mist flared in his eyes.

Greyback had killed Remus.

Greyback had killed Remus.

Greyback had killed Remus.

He had to suffer. He had to _die_.

Oblivious to everything but the growling silver werewolf and the body of his son, Rey screamed in desperate rage and charged like a berserker.

He did not hear Moody's frantic cry. He did not see the flicker of surprise in the over-intelligent eyes of the feral werewolf. He was aware only of one thing, his overwhelming needto cause the werewolf pain.

The strength of bereaved fury surged through his body with almost superhuman results. The first blow struck square between the gleaming eyes, half-knocking the wolf from its feet as it stumbled back to dodge this fearless, mindless, cudgel-wielding apparition of absolute rage. The second swept with crushing force into the side of its head, staggering it sideways before it could recover. The third smashed against a forelimb, drawing blood from a half-crushed paw as it tried to turn away. The fourth battered its exposed side and knocked it finally to the ground. And then, grasping the cudgel powerfully in both hands, Rey raised it over his head to deliver the fifth and final skull-crushing blow to his stricken foe.

It never landed.

For then Remus screamed.

The sound echoed through the trees with horrifying clarity, the previously motionless figure of his little boy suddenly twisting and writhing on the floor, his tiny fingers scraping at the frosty earth as he buried his face against it, shrieking and screaming and sobbing in the unmistakable throes of extreme agony. Alarming amounts of blood stained the ground where he lay.

Rey stared for an instant, his world righting itself with an abruptness that made him sway with a mixture of dizzy relief and desperate horror.

Greyback had not killed Remus.

Remus was alive.

Remus was in pain.

Remus had been bitten.

Remus was a werewolf.

And he was _too young_. Greyback's plan had worked. _Oh dear Gods, no_….

The cudgel froze and wavered. Greyback did not.

A moment later Rey was beset by an agony of his own. The werewolf's claws sunk to the bone into his left thigh and dragged down the length of his leg.

Unbelievable pain pierced him – the cudgel slipped from his fingers in shock as he tumbled to the floor with a thump and a cry. For a terrible instant, his vision was filled with malicious golden eyes and a blood-flecked maw as the werewolf lunged viciously towards his exposed throat.

They had forgotten Moody and his Aurors. The fallen cudgel leapt to life as a spell caught it, swinging it untouched to wallop full into the werewolf's charging jaws. A Reductor Curse blasted a hole in the earth mere inches from the werewolf's side and the loose rocks freed by the explosion were lifted and flung at the still reeling Greyback.

At first, it seemed his full moon rage would overcome the vague remnants of his human intelligence, for he bared his teeth and half started back at his assailants, but another flurry of debris convinced him otherwise. For a moment longer he lingered, his golden eyes fixed upon the writhing little boy with a vague hint of satisfaction. Then with a final defiant snap of his jaws, he turned tail and fled into the darkness.

"That's RIGHT!" The furious roar belonged to Alastor Moody. "Run, you _bastard_, but don't think you'll get away! Every Auror in this country wants you dead! You won't live the week_, _Greyback! And when we find you, death will be a MERCY!"

Rey was not listening. His entire consciousness was focused on the thrashing little form a few yards to his right. Ignoring the agonising pain in his leg and his body's screams of protest, he dragged himself half upright and crawled across the battered earth to his son.

Even in the darkness, he could see that Remus was unnaturally pale. His boy's hands were filthy and bleeding as he scratched at the earth in desperate pain, his clothing torn to shreds and the skin beneath a tattered mess. His small face was screwed up in unbearable agony, cheeks wet with an unending stream of tears, his voice already hoarse from crying out. His eyes were tightly closed.

Ignoring the shouting Aurors as they regrouped and rushed in pursuit of the fleeing werewolf, Rey stretched out as he dragged himself across the final yard to clutch his son's shoulder. Anxiously, frantically, he called out Remus' name, hauling himself finally to his side and he grasping the shaking little body in an attempt to still his convulsions. He was still bleeding far too strongly and shivering with shock and cold. Rey quickly tore his own cloak from his shoulders and tucked it warmly around the little boy. He hoisted himself painfully into a sitting position, lifted his child from the earth and wrapped him in his embrace, pressing the shuddering little head against his cheek. For a moment, Remus' eyes flickered open, but his gaze was blank, and filled with pain. Rey had no way of knowing if his son had even realised whose arms were cradling him. He prayed that the slight tint of gold around the edges of the boy's eyes was only a figment of his nightmarish imagination.

"It's all right," he whispered the words in spite of the fact that they had never been less true. "It's going to be all right, son. I love you and your mother loves you and nothing or no one is ever going to change that. I'm so sorry I failed you, I'm so sorry I couldn't keep you safe. If I could change places with you now, I would without hesitation. But I can't change places and I can't turn back time and untangle this stupid mess and make it better. I promise we'll look after you. We'll do anything and everything we can for you. Just _stay with us_. I love you." He pressed a soft kiss to the tousled head. "You're a good lad, a strong lad. Please, for God's sake, don't let it _win_."

But something was wrong. The nature of his son's contortions had shifted from convulsions of pain to thrashings of anger. Remus twisted and writhed in his grasp, his little fists flailing and battering his father's chest with a great deal more force than Rey knew his son could have usually mustered, his fingernails scratching and drawing blood. This time when his son's eyes flashed open, he knew the golden highlights had not been imaginary.

_Oh no. Oh God, no! Not my son…_

There would be, could be no transformation this night – the body needed time to adapt, for the infection was too new, too unsettled, to drive the newly bitten werewolf into the dreaded change yet - but the full moon was rising, flooding the glade with silver moonlight, and the wolfish mind at least could feel its call; it would see no need to wait for his body to catch up. And once it was entrenched in a mind so young, so vulnerable…

There had to be _something _he could do to stop it. There had to be.

Footsteps intruded on his train of thought and a hand upon his shoulder made him start. He glanced up sharply into the dark, sympathetic eyes of Alastor Moody.

He was not alone. Another Auror - Rey believed his name was Castleton - was supporting him heavily, whilst trying to ignore the wash of blood trickling down his forehead. A wad of rags was pressed to a gash in Moody's side.

"Caught us both a wallop as well," Moody commented wryly, although his eyes were drifting to the now aggressive little body clamped in the exterminator's arms. "The others are still chasing and I've called for backup. Hopefully we'll get him when he has to stop at moonset."

Rey nodded blankly. Dizziness was threatening to wash over him as his leg throbbed piercingly, but adrenalin forced it back. His son needed him.

The stares of both Aurors had fixed upon Remus.

"He's turned, hasn't he?" It was Castleton who spoke, bluntly and with a hint of distaste. He was fingering his wand. "Look, Lupin, I know it wouldn't be fair to expect you do it. Just lay the lad down and I'll make it quick…"

His voice tailed off as an icy glare tpierced him and froze the remains of the sentence on his lips.

"_What?_"

Castleton almost visibly squirmed. He glanced at Moody almost appealingly. "The boy's gone _feral_. Surely a quick, humane dispatch now would be better for everyone…"

"Castleton, _shut up_." Moody could see that the dangerous look on Reynard's face was the look of a man who had not only reached the end of his tether, but lost the tether entirely some time ago. He knew without a doubt that if the exterminator had not had his hands full with his precious burden, he would have already throttled the younger Auror to death a good ten seconds before. Privately, Moody could not avoid a lingering sense that Castleton was right, but he knew as well just how much Remus meant to Rey and Diana. There was no way on earth that Reynard Lupin would be let his son die or be lost without a fight.

Uncomfortably, he pulled himself free of Castleton's support.

"Apparate back to Winter Hollow," he ordered the younger man sharply. "Get Mrs Lupin and escort her down the Floo to St Mungo's. We'll meet you there."

Castleton gaped. "You're taking _it_ to St Mungo's? But…"

"_Now_." Moody cut the man off before he engraved his name any deeper on Rey Lupin's hit list. For a moment it seemed that Castleton intended to argue the point further but twin stares of deathly threat convinced him that departure would not be a bad idea. With a crack, he Disapparated.

Rey tightened his grip on his still writhing son defensively as he met Moody's gaze. With a wince of pain, the Auror bent and retrieved the battered cudgel.

"Here," he said softly, extending the weapon before him as he dropped uncomfortably to his knees beside father and son. "Grab onto this and make sure the boy does to. We'll have twenty seconds."

With his free hand, he tapped his wand against the wood. "_Portus_."

Grasping one of Remus' tiny hands in his own, Rey pressed it firmly against the newly made Portkey, clasping his still screaming son as tightly as he could. Castleton's harsh words still rang painfully, infuriatingly in his ears. How dare he stand there all self-righteous and talk about putting his son down like an animal! Fiery determination flooded his body from head to toe. He was _not_ going to give them the satisfaction. He was _not _going to give Greyback such a victory. He was _not_ going to lose the son he loved so much.

"I won't let it happen, Remus." The words were a whisper against his son's ear, born of a pain far stronger than the one that seared his leg. "I won't let that wolf take you away, _either_ of them. You're going to come back to me and I'm going to raise you to be the person that you should be, that you _will _be. You're going to be happy, you're going to be goodand above all else you're going to be _human_. I won't let anyone take that away from you. You will be everything that Greyback is not, I promise you. He won't destroy you and he won't destroy our family. We won't let him ruin this. We won't let him win. You'll still be Remus Lupin. You'll still be my son. And you're going to _stay _that way."

Moody's eyes were fixed on Rey, his gaze a mix of sympathy, anxiety and hopelessness. "Here it comes, Rey. Three, two, one…"

A moment later the glade contained nothing but moonlight.


	10. The Wall

_10: The Wall _

It took all of Alastor Moody's powers of persuasion to make Reynard Lupin relinquish his son to the St Mungo's Healers. Now Rey wished he had clung on more stubbornly.

His son needed him.

Remus had called out to him. Just for a moment, an instant, the terrible gold of those feral eyes had faded and his son had stared in terror around the room at the mass of strangers in lime-coloured robes pinning him ruthlessly to the bed and screamed out for his daddy.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Rey was barely capable of standing, let alone walking, he would have been at his son's side like a shot.

Diana had been waiting when the Portkey had deposited them on the floor of the St Mungo's reception area, gasping in horror at the sight of her bloodstained son and crippled husband. Despite the fact Rey could not stand unaided, he had refused to let go of his thrashing child – in the end a Healer had cast a temporary charm on his leg so that with Moody's help he could rush Remus to the ward on the first floor where the wide-eyed Healers and the Auror finally managed to prise the boy from his protective grasp. Afterward, Moody had been whisked off for treatment at once, but Rey was a great deal more stubborn. With a distraught and sobbing Diana at his side he had shaken off most of their tender ministrations, hinting at his desire to be left alone through an angry glare that all bar one had taken to heart and reluctantly backed away from his son to give the Healers room to work.

Remus was seriously hurt, separated from his parents in the hands of strangers, trapped and terrified inside his own body and rapidly losing control.

And now this bloody woman was trying to help _him_. Didn't she have priorities?

"Mr Lupin, _please_ let me look at that leg. The charm is only temporary and that's a very serious injury. If it doesn't get treated soon, we may not be able to fully heal the damage…"

Rey knew Healer Jarvin quite well –he and his fellow exterminators were regulars on the Creature Induced Injury Wards. Up until now he had considered her an intelligent and capable woman, if a little over-fussy.

"_Look_," he snapped with a steely glare. "This leg can wither and drop off for all I care. _Why aren't you helping my son?_"

Jarvin's expression was an alarming mixture of compassion and understanding; the look that peg-legged Reiver had designated her "that-leg-is-going-to-have-to-come-off-sir" look. It never meant anything good.

Rey was not in the mood for a long and winding explanation, punctuated by compassionate pauses and sympathetic pats of his wrist. He cut in before she opened her mouth.

"Straight facts please, Jarvin. Don't spare my feelings and don't beat around the bush. I want to know what you can do for my son."

Jarvin bit down on her lip and glanced at Diana inquiringly. In spite of her tears, she met the Healer's eyes and nodded.

"The facts," she repeated firmly.

Jarvin bowed her head, her brisk professionalism just failing to conceal eyes that were bright with sadness. "Very well. Bluntly put, Mr Lupin, Mrs Lupin, this isn't looking good. The bite wound itself, severe as it is, we can heal with time. But a werewolf has bitten your son and even though the infection is too new to cause a physical transformation, the mental effects are already manifesting themselves. And in a mind so young, these initial effects can have a devastating impact."

"What kind of impact?" Diana was grasping her husband's arm, her brave expression undermined by the horror in her eyes.

Jarvin turned and gestured to the bed where Remus' little form continued to thrash and scream and squirm in the grasp of her fellow Healers as they tried to treat his wounds. His eyes were now streaked with unmistakable gold. "_That_ kind of impact. It's too much for him. His mind is too young to be able to process the stress and trauma of all that he's been through this evening; it's overburdened. If he was older, it wouldn't matter so much, because a more developed mind could perhaps have coped better and created the necessary boundaries in spite of the shock of being bitten. Also, if the events surrounding his bite had not been so traumatic, he might have stood a chance. But the presence of the wolf is too strong for him in this state of distress. Wolf minds capitalise on emotional vulnerabilities and after so much horror, your son is very vulnerable. He can't fight that invasion off on top of everything else." She sighed deeply, her factual demeanour wavering in the face of parental grief. "I'm truly sorry," she said sincerely. "But I don't think there is any more we can do."

Rey stared blankly at the writhing form of his only child, his thoughts swirling, his features creased with a combination of distress and horror. Remus couldn't fight it. He was too young to fight it. He was going to turn feral, just as Greyback had threatened…

No. There had to be another way.

Diana was speaking to Jarvin, her voice soft and desperate. "But surely, once the moon sets, the wolf's mind will retreat. Remus will be Remus again."

Jarvin sadly shook her head. "That would be the case if he had been able to form the necessary boundaries to repel the wolf. But these early hours are crucial. If he cannot establish an initial barrier between his mind and the wolf's, the two will merge together and become inseparable. And once that happens…"

"He's feral." Rey's soft whisper drew the gaze of both women. "_True_ feral. And then, there's no going back."

Jarvin nodded silently, her face sombre. Diana simply stared.

The Healer's soft touch against his arm was tentative. "It goes against everything I believe in to say this," she said, her voice soft and uncertain, "but I just can't see how he can have any kind of life like this that doesn't involve the Ministry and a cage. Under the circumstances…" She paused to take a breath. "It might be kinder just to let him go now."

"Don'tsay it." Rey's tone slapped away her words. "Don't even _think_ it." His mind was working furiously. There had to be some way to help Remus, some way to fortify him against the assault of the wolf. She'd said something about his vulnerability…

"Jarvin, you said the trauma of the evening and the bite had weakened his mind," he declared abruptly, shaking his arm loose of her hold and meeting her gaze with wild but determined eyes. "If it wasn't for that trauma, those memories distressing and confusing him, would he be able to make the necessary barriers?"

The Healer took a step back, intimidated by the intense and slightly unhinged demeanor of the bloodstained father before her. "Maybe," she admitted nervously. "He must have a strong little mind to have been able to break through for a moment to call to you the way he did when you brought him in. Even given his age, it may have been possible…" She shook herself out of the speculation abruptly. "But that's irrelevant. You can't turn back time or undo what's happened. There's no way to test it."

It was an idea. There was no mistaking it. An impulsive, untested, possibly ridiculous idea, but it was all the hope Rey had and he was well beyond the point of being careful. He was no Healer. He had no idea what the impact would be. For all he knew, he might weaken his son's mind even further. But if Jarvin's words were any judge, he had lost Remus already, lost the only thing he had to lose that mattered.

But if it worked…

If it worked, he would have Remus to gain.

He would be a werewolf – that was inescapable. But the boy would still be his son. He would still be _Remus_.

If he won the battle. But he was a strong boy, Rey knew it, and he could fight and win if only he was not handicapped by circumstances. He could not give his son victory. But he could send him into combat better armed.

What else could he do but give Remus the chance to try?

It needn't even be permanent. Just until his mind was ready. Just until he was older…

Rey started forward abruptly and at once almost collapsed as his weakened and damaged left leg gave way under him. Only Jarvin's quick reactions kept him upright.

"Mr Lupin!" she scolded sharply. "That leg! I must insist…"

"Help me to my son." Yet again Rey dashed away her words.

She stared at him. "Mr Lupin…"

He met her stare with eyes brimful of icy determination. "_Help me to my son_," he repeated deliberately.

For a moment, she hesitated. But then, she looped one arm around his shoulders and helped support his weight as he edged the few steps across the room to the bed where Remus lay.

In spite of his weakness, it took little effort to barge his way past the huddle of Healers clustered around his little boy. For an instant, he stared at his icily pale son, with his dishevelled, sweat soaked hair, ragged clothes, bloodstained torso and wild, half-gold eyes as he screamed hoarsely, his voice a pale echo of its earlier agony, sapped of volume by harsh use but not of its source. Exhaustion had weakened his convulsions to half-hearted flailing, but Rey was certain his son would have continued to thrash and cry with the same force as in the forest if his too-young body could have taken the strain.

_Please, please, please, in Merlin's name, don't let this be a mistake_.

Drawing his wand, he extended it and pressed it gently but firmly to his son's forehead. His face was set. He drew a deep breath and concentrated every last iota of energy he could muster. He couldn't afford to make a mistake with something as delicate as his son's memory.

_Please, please, please. Let this work. Let this work._

His father had used a Memory Charm on Rhea, if Greyback was to be believed. But this was different. A Memory Charm had started this mess. Perhaps another one could temper its effects.

_You can do this. You can do this_.

Just last night. He had to concentrate, to hide only what needed to be hidden, no more, no less. Just last night.

_For our family. For Remus_.

Do it.

"_Obliviate_."

Gasps rose from the Healers around him and from Diana who was standing a few yards clear, staring in shock with the realisation of what her husband was trying to do. Jarvin was looking at him with dawning comprehension and a sudden hint of admiration – pushing her way quickly to the bedside, she took in the dazed and suddenly shocked to stillness form of the little boy and extended her wand also.

"_Dormio_."

At once, Remus' eyelids fluttered; after a moment's struggle against the force of sleeping spell, he slipped into unconsciousness, finally stilled and silenced after so much raw pain.

"There," Jarvin murmured. "Now at least he can sleep until the pull of the moon is passed. After moonset, he stands a better chance." She smiled gently. "Good thinking, Mr Lupin."

The adrenalin seemed to drain from Rey's body as he stared down at his suddenly peaceful son, aware of the battle that must be waging beneath the boy's repose. But he'd given him a chance. _Please_ let this have given him a chance.

He felt strangely dizzy. The bed and walls began swirl before his eyes. Sparkles of silver and black taunted his vision.

"The trauma's gone," he whispered softly. "It's just the wolf to deal with. Now it's up to Remus."

A hand slipped gently into his: Diana. She gazed down at her son, her tear-streaked face determined once more. "Now it's up to Remus," she echoed.

Rey glanced at his wife and just about managed to smile before his legs gave way beneath him and the dizzying darkness swept him away to oblivion.


	11. Waiting

_11: Waiting_

Blankets. Warmth. Quiet. The dull stain of dawn light against his eyelids.

Rey smiled. He loved waking up at home.

Was Diana up already? Would he find breakfast waiting on, the soft hum of his wife's voice as she set the morning table? Or would they both be awoken by a sudden impatient visit from Remus as he scrambled up the foot of the bed and bounced cheerfully between his parents with a cheeky smile until sleep was a forgotten dream?

Gently he extended his left hand in search of the presence of his wife but instead encountered crisp tightly tucked sheets and the edge of the mattress.

What the…?

And then he became aware of the pain. The itching throb that ran the length of his left leg. The bruised catch of his ribs. The sharp sting across his shoulder. The pounding of his skull.

Memories flooded through his mind. The chase. Hel. Bevan soaked in blood. His sleeping son. His smiling wife. A flare of the fireplace. Greyback. Tyr. The poker. The forest. The wolf. The hospital. Obliviate.

_Remus_.

Rey burst into consciousness.

A firm hand slapped against his shoulder, forcing him back against his pillows. Diana's pale face, framed in dark curls, filled his vision. Her smile was tentative.

"Lie back down," she said, her voice a whisper. "You're exhausted and hurt. Considering the amount of blood you lost, Healer Jarvin says it's astonishing you didn't keel over long before you did."

"Remus." Rey was not to be deterred. Dawn light was creeping through the curtains that shrouded the high window towards the far end of the ward; surely they must know by now…. "What's happened? Is he…?"

Diana's expression clouded slightly. "He hasn't woken yet. Jarvin topped up her spell with a sleeping draught just to be sure." Her eyes flickered with a pain that Rey wished he could only imagine. "We'll know in an hour or so."

She glanced to the bed on Rey's left. Her husband followed her gaze.

A small figure lay dwarfed in the large hospital bed a couple of yards away. He had been cleaned up at least, the dirt, grime and blood washed from his body, the tattered and bloodied remains of his pyjamas stripped away and replaced with a simple hospital gown. His brown hair, half buried in the pillow, swept with surprising neatness across his forehead, arranged, Rey suspected, by the constant gentle stroke of Diana's hand throughout the night. His skin was pale, too pale, his face almost mockingly serene. His eyes remained closed.

"They wanted to put him in a private room." Diana spoke in the same soft voice. "Hide him away from everyone in case... But I asked them – how could they expect me to choose between the bedside of my husband and my son? So Jarvin arranged for this little ward to be emptied instead. So I could sit with both of you."

Poor Diana. What a night it had been for her. The peace of her happy home shattered; her beloved son abducted, bitten by a werewolf and facing a fight for his sanity and to top it off, her husband collapsing unconscious and leaving her to weather it alone. There was no measure by which she deserved such a fortune.

Dragging his aching arms from beneath his coverlet and ignoring his wife's brief flash of indignation at his action, Rey pulled himself half-upright and engulfed her in his arms.

She burst into tears.

It took a good ten or fifteen minutes for Diana's storm of weeping to pass. Rey did not relax his embrace for an instant, clutching his wife's head against his shoulder as she sobbed herself dry, holding back his own tears only out of a need to remain coherent enough to offer comfort. Diana had been forced to be strong when he passed out. Now she needed release and it was his turn.

Finally, Diana ran out of tears to cry. She nestled her damp face against the crook of his neck as he rubbed her back comfortingly, his fingers drawing little circles between her shoulder blades. Her breath whispered against the tear-soaked wetness of his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she murmured at last. "I thought I was stronger than this."

Rey closed his eyes as he tightened his hold. "Don't be stupid. What's happened would have tested anyone. I think you're entitled to a bit of a cry."

There was a muffled half-hearted snort. "You call this a _bit_ of a cry? Reynard Lupin, master of understatement, strikes again."

Diana making silly remarks. A touch of normality briefly invaded this most abnormal of situations. But elusive and quick, it was rapidly gone.

Slowly, her hair a brush of silk against his throat and cheek, Diana drew back, stroking her husband's arms with her fingers as she wordlessly rested her forehead against his.

"Rey," she murmured softly, her eyes betraying a deep anxiety and a desperate fear. "I've been thinking. I've had all night to think, to do nothing _but _think. And I just can't stop wondering…I can't help but realise…" She sighed deeply, her fingertips redoubling their efforts as her gaze slipped down to the bedclothes to escape her husband's gaze. "Even if Remus is still… Even if he's himself when he wakes…" She bit her lip, hesitating yet again as she tried to articulate the one fact that neither parent truly wanted to face. "Whatever happens when Remus comes round, we can't escape the fact that he's going to be… Rey, our son was bitten. Our son is… Is…"

"A werewolf." Rey too had dropped his gaze, his own composure difficult to maintain in the face of the flush of mirroring emotions that flooded his wife's features. "I know."

Had it not been for the fact that her tear ducts were dry, Rey was certain tears would have been once again falling from the eyes of his wife. As it was, her pain was instead translated into her features.

"There'll be arrangements." Diana was all but gritting her teeth as she struggled by force to be practical in the face of turbulent emotion. "He'll have to be registered, of course. I was worried for a while about whether his… _turn_… in the hospital would have to be reported too, but Healer Jarvin says she and her staff won't mention it if we don't. The Ministry doesn't react kindly to werewolves that… And Jarvin says she could never condemn an innocent child if it can be avoided." She smiled wanly. "She's a good woman."

Rey nodded silently, rubbing his forehead against his wife's curls. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"And then we have to think about what to do when we take him home." Diana ploughed on with the agonising determination of someone who needed to get these words off her chest before she exploded with the force of them. "I was thinking that we could clear all my potion ingredients out of the cellar and let him… let it happen down there. The walls are solid, that window is high and far too small to be squeezed through and we can easily reinforce the door. I can move my things into the cupboard under the stairs and we'll put the cleaning things in that old chest in the hall instead. I was going to suggest the old lean-to first but then I remembered how strong a werewolf could be. It might do whilst he's small, but once he gets older, it won't be able to take the strain, I'm sure. This way seems the best, don't you think love?"

She was trying so hard to hide the tremble in her voice, discussing the practical ramifications of their son's newly acquired _condition _as though it was a simple domestic problem. He knew Diana well enough to realise that this had been the only way she had been able to stay sane through the long night alone – to try and find something, anything that she could do about it, to ease it, to make the enormous burden of the shattered future they faced just a little less daunting. She needed something tangible to deal with, to occupy her thoughts, something that would prevent her dwelling on the stark truth and house arrangements seemed to be it.

Rey wished with all his heart that it would be that simple. His son was a _werewolf._ The very thought made him feel sick to his stomach. For as long as he could remember the word werewolf had been associated with anger, hatred, bitterness and betrayal, and whether or not those feelings had been justified, he could not simply banish them away. And yet, they were the antithesis of everything he had ever felt in regards to Remus, the little boy who had brought nothing but light into his life. To try and mesh these two polar opposites was simply appalling. And although he knew that his love for his son would always triumph over his werewolf negativity, the adjustment would take time. House arrangements were perhaps a place to start.

Bitter irony kicked in. When the bright side of a situation was the prospect of arranging his house to accommodate his werewolf son, it was unavoidable to consider that life had taken a dire turn indeed.

And that was the _best_ scenario. The _worst_…

But Diana had already anticipated his thoughts. A night's worth of brooding had led to coverage of most possibilities.

"But…" The tremble in her tone escaped her iron-tight control in spite of herself. "The next full moon – the first change – that's going to be difficult. He's rather young to have this explained and he won't remember being bitten in any case. And there's no guarantee – even if he forms a barrier… We can't know that it will hold out against a second onslaught. If he does _slip back_… There's nothing we can do, no more memories to wipe. And that's if it works." Her eyes caught her husband's once more. "Rey, what if we lose him? What if the wolf wins? What are we going to do?"

Rey steeled his jaw. "We do what's best for him. We… We _let him go_."

Diana closed her eyes sharply, blinking back the dry itch of spent tears. "I know. I just needed you to say it."

The next hour dragged with agonising slowness. Diana flitted nervously between her twitchy husband and unconscious son, slipping from one bed to the other, to her chair, and then up to pace the otherwise empty ward before rushing back once more to the side of her family. Rey was painfully aware that but for his injuries he would have been climbing the walls at her side. In that respect, the straitjacket of hospital sheets was almost a relief.

About twenty minutes after Rey's return to consciousness, Healer Jarvin reappeared. She examined him thoroughly, checking his bandages and rate of healing, dosing him with a wide selection of potions and performing several minor spells. Then with a sigh, she sat on the edge of his bed and informed him reluctantly that the news about his leg was not good. Even without the delay in his treatment, the wounds had been very severe, damaging muscles, nerves and tendons and the scar tissue, which could not be removed magically due to the toxic nature of werewolf induced injuries, was not going to help his recovery. There was little to no chance that he would ever regain full use of his left leg.

Rey took the news stoically. By now, he was too numb to much care.

Healer Jarvin had examined Remus too. His physical injuries, she said, were healing cleanly and well. Any damage to his mind remained to be seen. He would wake, by her estimation, within the hour. She paused to weave a precautionary restrictive spell over his limbs and told them to call her the moment he came round.

Once she had gone, Rey retrieved his wand from his bedside table and determinedly used a spell to scoot his bed over to beside his son's. He was determined not to be out of reach. Rescuing her chair before her husband could crush it in his zeal to rearrange the furniture, Diana settled on Remus' other side and gently held his hand.

Ten minutes had just crawled by when a slightly limping but otherwise mostly intact Alastor Moody appeared in the entrance to the ward. At Rey's half-nod to his uncertainty, he slipped inside and made his way over to join them. His eyes fixed on the still form of Remus at once.

"Has he turned?" he ventured softly.

Rey met the dark, sympathetic eyes of his friend. "We'll know when he wakes."

"Ah." Moody knew when to leave a subject well alone. "Well, I come as the bearer of tidings. I've good news and bad news for you."

"Oh?"

With a grunt, Moody dragged another chair across the ward and settled beside Diana. "Well, your bad news is that Fenrir bloody-hellfire-cursed Greyback seems to got away from us."

Rey felt his stomach drop. Greyback had escaped. Greyback, his errant nephew, the man – the _creature_ – that had destroyed his son's future and possibly his sanity was still out there. And with his vengeance so rudely interrupted, who could say that he would not be back….

The exterminator met the gaze of the Auror with firm coldness. "Tell me exactly what good you can find out of that."

Moody winced slightly at the tone and sighed. "Well, the good news is that he seems to have left the country."

Both Rey and Diana stared at the Auror. "How can you possibly be sure?" Rey asked incredulously.

Moody pulled a face. "Because about an hour ago, a naked, battered blood-covered man matching Fenrir Greyback's description leaped out of a local connection fireplace at the International Floo Network Terminal, killed two customs officers and hijacked a connection to the continent. He dropped out at a farmhouse near Zagreb, as far as they can trace. We think he broke into a wizarding house in a village over the far side of your mountain not long after dawn and used their fireplace just like he used Bevan's. We've put a stop to that though. I've spoken to the Floo Regulation people about this and they put up a marker on Greyback's trace. If he tries to take the Floo back into this country or use any internal connection again, the fireplace he uses will literally blow up in his face. No more sneak attacks for _him_." He gave a grizzled grin of satisfaction. "We know he can't Apparate or make Portkeys either; he's had no formal magical training and what talent he has is wild and weak. He's got a bit of a walk ahead of him if he's thinking of heading back here."

"Do you think he will?" There was a tremor of fear to Diana's tone – her grasp on Remus tightened noticeably. "Come back here, I mean."

Moody shook his head. "I doubt it. It was made very clear to him in the course of his chase that the only welcome he can expect in Britain is a healthy amount of violence and a lingering execution. Aurors don't take well to those who attack innocent children and murder their colleagues. His description is well circulated. Hopefully he'll show a flash of sense and find a nice quiet corner of Europe to curl up and die in."

Rey made an attempt at a smile, but he suspected the result was much closer to a grimace than he'd have liked. "Thank you Alastor. For everything."

Moody shook his head as he rose stiffly to his feet. "Don't thank me." He sighed and met his friend's eyes once again. "I'd best be going." He hesitated awkwardly. "Your lad's a strong 'un, Rey. He'll pull through. Diana."

"Alastor." Diana replied with a nod, saving Rey the trouble of finding more words. With a final half smile, Moody retreated from the ward once more.

And the wait resumed.

It was Diana who noticed first. Rey had all but dropped off, his head lolling on his pillow, eyelids drooping as the exhaustion of the last few days caught up with him, when suddenly he was jerked into wakefulness by a little half gasp from his wife. Diana was staring down at the little hand she grasped with surprise and sudden dread, her features a contrasting mix of hopefulness and fear.

"He moved!" she breathed, her eyes snapping up. "Rey, he moved! His hand twitched!"

Rey scrambled onto his elbows, ignoring the pulse of pain that shot through his ribs and shoulder as he drew his wand from beneath his pillow and leaned from his bed onto the adjacent edge of his son's. A moment later they knew that Diana had not been mistaken for Remus rolled his head against the pillow, his limbs stretching slightly against invisible bonds as he struggled back towards consciousness. But just who – or what – would they find when he opened his eyes?

His eyelids fluttered. Diana's gaze was fixed on her only child in desperate, anxious hope; Rey grasped the edge of the bed, his grip on his wand tightening sharply. Much as he longed to hope for the best, he could not afford to take any chances.

_Please be Remus. Please be Remus. Please be Remus_.

And then, his eyes slipped open. There was not a hint of gold.

"Mummy?" A half-dozy, distinctly confused little voice split the silence. "Daddy?"

For a moment neither Diana nor Rey could move. They could barely breathe. After so much they had barely dared to believe… Could it be true?

Remus was staring at the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion, his small face creased by the sudden realisation of pain. His lip trembled.

"It _hurts_," he murmured, his tone both deeply bemused and distinctly not happy. "And I feel all _funny_."

Mothering instincts overrode shock – with a cry of utter relief combined with a powerful desire to comfort her confused child, Diana released Jarvin's spell with a flick of her wand and leaned forward, wrapping her son in her arms and stroking his hair as she clasped him against her. The disconcertion melted from Remus' face at the familiar proximity of his mummy – with a little sniff he buried himself reassuringly into the cuddle. In spite of the fact that he was clearly in some pain from his bite wound and had yet to realise just how his innocuously christened _funny feeling_ was going to change his life, he managed a little smile.

Rey stared at them, simply stared, drinking in the sight that he had feared so deeply he might never see again, his little boy snuggled contentedly in the comforting arms of his mother. Gently he reached out a hand and stroked it along his son's shoulder.

_He did it. He won. My little boy. He won_.

_We're going to be all right_.

And he knew it. Oh yes, the future they faced was difficult; they were by no means out of the woods that Greyback had plunged them into. There would be challenges, many challenges ahead, the bright and easy life he had dreamt of for his son lost with the snap of wolfish jaws. And there was still the uncertainty of the next full moon.

But they were still together. They were still a family. They still had each other. And they would beat those challenges. They would be fine. Remus would be fine.

He was sure of it.


	12. A Matter of Blame

**A/N:** Well, this is it – the final chapter. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my beta **Ara Kane** for all of her help and advice and her hard work. It's all been much appreciated. I hope everyone reading has enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :)

_12: A Matter of Blame_

**Winter Hollow, February 1994.**

A deathly stillness permeated Winter Hollow.

The silence seemed to stretch for years.

Two motionless figures stared at each other; the younger man, his brown hair greying slightly, resting back against the soft settee as he watched the older man sitting on the edge of a chair nearby as he struggled to compose himself enough to continue. It was not an easy task.

"Even then, we weren't sure." The words when they came echoed against the weight of what had passed before; Reynard Lupin's grasp of his son's hand had not lessened once throughout the telling of his tale. "Oh, we had more hope than we'd dared to dream of the night before, but we still had no way of knowing what would happen after your first full moon. You had formed a barrier, yes, but how you'd handle another incursion from the wolf, especially since I'd taken the memory of your first one, we had no idea. You'd be starting over. We did our very best to explain it to you – but how do you explain to a three year old the concept of becoming a werewolf? We _cherished_ that month – for all we knew, it was going to be our last together. And when the full moon came…" His voice faltered slightly as he squeezed his son's fingers, almost as though to reassure himself that he really was there, alive, full grown and sane. "That night almost broke both of our hearts. I don't think I've ever felt as bad in all my life as I did that night, watching poor Diana carry you down those cellar steps and leaving you down there in the dark, confused, unwell and naked, to face that change alone. And then sitting in the kitchen, listening to you scream as the moon rose…"

"Dad, _don't_." Remus stepped in before his father upset himself further, coming to his feet as he reached out to grasp his father's shoulder with his free hand. "You don't have to…"

His father's eyes rose to meet his son's. "But I _do_ have to. Remus, I've bottled this up for over thirty years, barely even discussing it with your mother for fear of upsetting her again. Selfish as it sounds, I _need_ this."

Remus sighed. His mind was still reeling, struggling to absorb the string of revelations that had emerged from his father's tale of the past. Fenrir Greyback was Tyr Argent. His _cousin,_ of all things. And if it hadn't been for his father's unexpectedly speedy pursuit and quick thinking in the hospital, he would either be dead by euthanasia or raving golden-eyed and slaughtering his friends and family for the thrills.

The thought of how close he had come to either fate made him shudder.

Wordlessly, he sunk to the floor by his father's side. He remembered the depth of shock and horror that his parents had never quite managed to conceal when the truth behind that feral night in 1981 had been revealed to them. It must have been as though their worst nightmares from his childhood had sprung back to life.

"That first night, listening to you down there, transformed, tearing at the walls, howling and shrieking –it was agony." Rey resumed his tale, his gaze absent and faraway in the past as he delved once more into his most painful memories. "Our only child was in unimaginable pain and we could not even say whether or not he would still be the son we loved when morning came. But when the moon went down and you fell silent, your mother dared to open the cellar and there you were. In pain, yes, scratched up from head to foot, bewildered, sobbing and terribly upset, but all that could be soothed away with a little time – what mattered to us was that you were still _yourself_. It was only then that we knew once and for all that we would be all right."

He toyed absently with his cane with his free hand. "I'd be lying if I said it was easy after that – every full moon was almost as dreadful as the first for us all. And it wasn't just the adaptations we had to make to our lifestyle because of it – for myself at least, it required a serious mental overhaul. In one night, I went from hating werewolves with a passion to having one for a son." He smiled crookedly, but there was a hint of uncertainty, as though he feared how his son would react to knowledge of his former standpoint. "It took a little getting used to."

Remus smiled too, reassuringly. "I can imagine."

Rey's smile grew a little more confident. "The likes of Greyback and his ilk I'll always despise," he admitted with feeling. "After all he did to us, I feel no wrong in doing so. But when it comes to what _you _go through and others like you, those who don't ask for it, don't want it, don't let it take over their lives, I'd fight to the death for your rights. There's werewolves and there's _werewolves_ and the world would be a better place if more people understood the difference."

Remus grinned broadly; this he knew for certain to be true. "I know _that_. I bailed you out of the Ministry holding cells the Christmas before last for beating up that Anti-Werewolf protestor in Diagon Alley, remember?"

Rey sniffed, but his smile was wry and slightly crooked. "The man was an idiot. He didn't know what he was talking about. And he started it; I refuse to believe that sideswipe with his placard was an accident. Besides, one good slap with a cane is not considered a beating, thank you."

Teasing his father was one trait that Remus had inherited fully from his mother. "That carol-singer described you as – how did he put it? Oh yes, a _spitting ball of white-haired_ _fury._ Honestly, Dad, you're lucky your idiot didn't press charges."

Rey's sudden grin was slightly wicked. "Thirty years of age and beaten up by a seventy year old with a gammy leg? He was too embarrassed."

The brief laughter lightened the heavy mood for a moment. But only for a moment.

Reynard's expression was suddenly sombre once more as he stared down at his son. His eyes drifted towards the glowing fire.

"I should have told you this sooner." His voice was a whispered hush. "Had you known, you might have been prepared and this whole ridiculous situation would never have happened…"

Remus gave a rueful chuckle. "Dad, I'm a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. That's about as prepared as it's supposed to _get_. I'm the one who walked blindly into a pack of Dementors, you know, and I can get into trouble easily enough by myself without needing you to try and steal all the blame."

Rey was shaking his head. "Still… The Memory Charm was necessary at the time, I hope you understand that now, but I should have told you when you were older. But your mother and I were just so afraid that if we told you and you remembered, it might all come back…" He sighed deeply. "All through your childhood, we tried to shield you, to keep you away from anything that might distress you in any way. We were terrified to take you out of our home, of taking you anyplace where you might face the kind of disdain and prejudice that people direct at werewolves. We coddled you to an absurd extent, I can see that now, but at the time it was all so fresh in our minds; what had happened, what could happen again if your emotions got away from you. I'll admit – for a while I was all for keeping you out of Hogwarts even if they'd have you."

He smiled, a soft smile tempered around the edges with still sharp grief. "But Diana could see you weren't happy with the idea of being a recluse. She saw the look on your face when you watched other children play near the farm, the wistful pleasure whenever we dared to go anywhere different like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. And she knew that in spite of our fears, going to Hogwarts would be the best thing for you." His smile spread with sudden recollection. "Oh she fought old Armando Dippet like a tigress when he told her that Hogwarts would not accept a werewolf pupil. Sometimes I could swear he retired just to get her to leave him alone. And then Dumbledore became Headmaster…"

The mention of Dumbledore's name caused Remus to share his father's smile for a moment before Rey met his eyes once more. "I suppose that would have been the time to tell you. We had lost the excuse of your being too young – if eleven was old enough for Hogwarts, it was old enough to understand. But you were so happy at the idea of going to school that we couldn't bring ourselves to spoil it."

He sighed as he dropped his gaze once more. "Your mother and I decided then that we would tell you the next time you asked us. And we waited, with some trepidation for the inevitable questions. But you never asked, and secretly, we both drew a sigh of relief." He raised his eyes once more, an eyebrow cocked quizzically. "I've often wondered Remus – why didn't you ask? You must have been curious."

Remus closed his eyes at the memory. "I did ask. When I was nine, I asked Mum. She burst into tears all over the place. After that I was afraid to ask again in case…"

He removed his hand from its resting place on the rug to wipe it wearily across his brow. "I couldn't stand the thought of upsetting Mum. And if one innocent question could hurt her so much…"

Reynard's grip on his son's hand tightened yet again. "Remus you were the most precious thing in our lives – you remain the most precious thing in mine. You were the only child we had, the only child we were ever going to have, and we both loved you very dearly." His features looked drawn and suddenly tired. "That night with Greyback, the night you were bitten, was the worst thing that either of us had ever been through. It was our worst nightmare, worse than our worst nightmare and it was _real_. We went from thinking you dead or worse, like _him_, to finding you bitten and bleeding and then watching you writhe and scream and rage like a feral before our eyes, knowing that our son was underneath there somewhere, unable to get out and probably terrified. Do you blame your mother for crying at the thought of it?"

Remus shook his head. "Of course not. But I didn't know that. I was a child and I'd made my mum _cry_. She almost never cried. I wasn't about to try it _again_."

Rey nodded thoughtfully. "Diana told me about it afterwards, but we didn't realise it would have such an impact on you."

"I _loved_ Mum. Do you think I wanted to see her cry just to satisfy my curiosity? I told myself it was all in the past, that it didn't matter. It wasn't as though it could be changed."

Rey stared at the ceiling for a moment. "No, it can't be changed. But unfortunately, it _does_ matter." He sighed again, dropping his eyes. "You were so happy at Hogwarts, happy with your friends. And then when you left school and got involved in the war… How could we add to your burdens like that? We were so afraid for you in those awful days, not just because your life was in danger, but because of the stress, the grief, the fear; what if it overwhelmed you? It began to look as though we would have to tell you, if only to warn you of how important it was to keep yourself controlled. But we put it off and put it off, thinking we'd still have time…" His voice trailed off into cold blankness, his eyes haunted. "But we didn't."

Coldness welled within Remus' chest. "1981."

His father nodded. "1981."

A slow, terrible realisation slipped into Remus' mind. "Two feral incidents. By the rules in those days, I would have been executed without trial. Even by today's standards, I should be locked up and probably facing Azkaban."

Rey was struggling to retain his composure. "Believe me, I know. When Alastor came to tell us that day, still bleeding from where you'd hit him in your frenzy…" He shuddered. "If it had been anyone but Alastor and Albus Dumbledore who saw it… it was only by good will that those Healers and the other Aurors kept quiet when you were a child; one word would have been enough. Alastor had to all but threaten Jasper Castleton not to report you when you first registered and Castleton never stopped resenting him for that. And at the time of your… _incident_, he was fairly high up in the ranks. If he had got word of it…"

Remus could feel his stomach plunging with horror at the closeness of his call. "Dad, I'm so sorry, I…"

"Stop that right now!" Rey cut off his son's apology sharply. "You have _nothing,_ absolutely _nothing_ to apologise for in this. You couldn't help what happened that day, you had no idea you were more vulnerable than might have been. And given the depth of your grief, even if you'd known…"

He closed his eyes, kneading his forehead with the fingertips of his free hand. "We should have told you then. No more excuses. But now it had happened, now that we knew our fears had been real all along, we were too afraid…"

There was a long silence.

This time when he spoke, Rey's voice did break. "And then when your mother died, I was so afraid again, that if you grieved too much, if you became too angry, I might lose you as well as her…"

The barricades finally gave way. Reynard Lupin broke down and wept the tears he had kept repressed for thirty years.

Remus immediately scrambled up and, flinging himself forward, he wrapped his arms around his sobbing father, drawing him rapidly into a comforting embrace. Rey clung to his son, face buried in his shoulder as he vented a lifetime's worth of pent-up emotion in a sudden rush, his sister's death, that awful night in the woods, the bite, the terrible sounds of all those full moon nights, his son's feral incident, his wife's death; all had been held back in an effort to be strong behind walls that could no longer take the strain.

He cried for some time.

Remus cried too. Cried for his mother, for his father's pain, for his lost friends and broken family. He shared his father's grief and wept.

Finally, when the storm of tears for both had passed, father and son slowly broke apart, pale, damp-cheeked and faintly embarrassed as they wiped their faces dry and shared a rueful smile.

"Well, that was exhilarating." Remus commented with deliberate nonchalance as he sank back down on the settee. Rey fixed his bloodshot eyes on his son as he pinned him with a mock glare.

"Watch it," he retorted, half lifting his cane. "I've never had to discipline you before but it's not too late to start."

Remus managed to grin. "Would it make it easier if I dressed up as an Anti-Werewolf campaigner?"

Rey tried to suppress the smile but failed in spectacular fashion. "Dear Gods, my boy, you are far too much like your mother. I knew I shouldn't have let her spend so much time warping your mind when you were young and impressionable."

Remus laughed again. "I think it was fairly well warped by genetics." He paused, allowing more serious thoughts to fill his mind as he touched his father's arm with concern. "Are you all right now?"

Rey waved a dismissive hand that told Remus eloquently that his father was still shaky but would sooner die than admit it to his son. "I'm fine," he said softly, a hint of a catch in his tone that he struggled to conceal. "I just had a long few hours worrying about you, thinking about all of this and then retelling it all, on top of talking about when your mother…" He caught his breath determinedly. "It still hurts, I suppose. I think it always will. And if I live to be three hundred, I'll never stop missing Diana."

Remus found his eyes drifting back to the photograph of his mother beaming down upon them both. "Neither will I."

For a long moment, there was silence. Remus was loath to break it and risk bringing his father any further distress, but a question nagged at the back of his mind, prodding insistently until finally he forced himself to speak.

"Dad?" His voice was soft, but sharpened a little along the edges. "What became of Greyback?"

His father's face stiffened slightly; knuckles tightened upon his cane. He grimaced.

"No one knows," he replied, his voice all but a whisper. "He's popped up here and there around Europe and there are always rumours. He was a supporter of You-Know-Who during the war and bit the children of his enemies to order..." He shuddered. "I suppose he'd developed a taste for the young. The idea of turning you against us must have given him ideas."

With a cold chill, Remus realised exactly where he'd heard the name before. It had been during his meetings with the Order of the Phoenix. He remembered the way certain eyes would slip towards him uncertainly when a fresh Greyback atrocity was mentioned, the suspicion lurking in covert gazes. He shivered.

_And he made me what I am today. He made sure that when people thought of werewolves, they thought of his savagery. So many innocent lives have been tainted by his actions. _

_He shouldn't be allowed to get away with that._

_He mustn't be allowed…_

"Where is he now?"

The question lingered in the air for a moment, unanswered. But then Reynard sighed.

"No one knows. He escaped the round up of Death Eaters at the end of the war – and believe me, I was looking for his name harder than anyone. I've heard mention of the Black Forest once or twice and Transylvania too but nothing concrete. I can only hope that Alastor's wish that he find a quiet corner of Europe to die in has come to pass."

Remus nodded quietly, his expression calm despite his roiling thoughts. His father had enough to worry about. And worry he would if he knew what was running through his son's mind.

_Because if he shows himself… if he comes back and starts putting more innocent lives at risk, I'll stop him. Somehow, I'll find a way._

_Enough is enough_.

Awkwardly, leaning heavily on his cane, Rey pulled himself upright once more, gingerly twitching his bad leg as he massaged his knee with his fingers.

"Stiff again," he explained with a half smile. "Bloody thing. My father used to have trouble with his knees but I doubt it was for the same reason."

At the mention of his long dead grandfather, a question sprang into Remus' mind. "Dad?"

Rey glanced down, fingertips still working his sore leg with the absence of practice. "Yes son?"

"Who was telling the truth?"

Rey frowned. "About what?"

"About what happened to your sister. Who was telling the truth – Greyback or your father?"

Remus immediately regretted asking as pain spilled across his father's features.

"Honestly?" he said softly. "I don't know. Perhaps Greyback really was telling the truth as Loki Argent had told it to him – but whether Argent was lying, or Greyback or my father, I really couldn't say. Perhaps none of them knew the whole story. Perhaps they all believed the tales they told. I don't think we'll ever know."

Remus shook his head. "I shouldn't have asked. It doesn't really matter. What's done is done. We can't undo it."

"Quite." Reynard's smile was sincere, if a bit of an effort. "Well, changing the subject rather, would you like something to eat?"

Remus couldn't help himself. "Not if _you're_ cooking."

The cane slapped gently against his shin. "Watch it, son. If you can't live with my culinary abilities, you'll just have to get up and make something yourself."

Pulling himself to his feet, Remus grinned. "I think I can live with that. Come on, Dad. Let's go and face your true evil nemesis."

Rey returned the grin. "You keep that stove away from me. It's nursing a personal grudge."

Remus smiled as he stepped back and allowed his father to move ahead of him. So much had changed since he'd woken from that terrible nightmare that morning; he had new truths to ponder, old grudges to consider, and disturbing connections of blood and bite to a savage, feral Death Eater. Nevertheless, he knew now that he still had the most precious things he thought he might have lost.

Thanks to his father, he still had himself. And he still had the last of his family.

What would happen now? Would he ever be able to make good on his private vow to find a way to bring down Greyback? Would he and Greyback ever even cross paths?

He didn't know. He was no seer. He could never know what the future held until the future stepped into the now.

But at least now he could understand his past. At least now he knew _why_.

And that, at least for now, would be enough.

THE END


End file.
